I'll Be Bonnie, You Be Clyde
by Cadence
Summary: What if Gilmore Girls had 100% more bank robbery in it? A light-hearted, Lit-shipping, S5 finale AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Titl****e: **I'll Be Bonnie, You Be Clyde**  
****Rating:** PG (with options for higher ratings later on)  
**Pairings/Characters:** Rory, Jess, Rory/Logan (implied), Rory/Jess (eventually)  
**Warnings:** none  
**Word count:** 3401  
**Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls belongs to the Palladinos, WB/CW, and Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions.  
**Summary:** What if Gilmore Girls had 100% more bank robbery in it? S5 finale AU

**A/N:** Thank you to finnigan_geist for encouraging (and beta'ing) my completely stupid ideas.

* * *

_In which Rory has a Plan; Jess flirts; The French are suspicious; Who knew Rory could drive like that?; And there is a kind gesture of fingerprint removal._

Rory reached up, adjusting the rearview mirror of Logan's Porsche. She took in a flash of her own face – flush with excitement and fear both – before tilting it to just the right angle. There was nothing behind her except an old beater that looked half way to being junked. No cops here. Good.

Dropping her hand, Rory glanced over to the empty passenger seat and the piles of paperwork she'd swiped from Logan's apartment. Her lips twisted into a smug smile. For all the disdain Mitchum had for Logan, he certainly trusted him with a lot of very important account numbers.

Rory shuddered at the name – even the thought of Mitchum Huntzberger sent a cold thread of anger tingling down to the base of her spine. If she had any doubts, any regrets, they evaporated at the thought of that condescending, obnoxious, _infuriating_ man.

She didn't have the right stuff for reporting? _Rory Gilmore_ wasn't the right person for the job? Oh hell no. She was the right person for every job, and she'd damn well show him she could take risks with the best of them.

Last night, at Honor's engagement, she'd burned with embarrassment after Logan rejected her plan of stealing Mitchum's yacht, but today, she could acknowledge how utterly stupid an idea that'd be. What did she know about boats? This morning, in the wispy near-dawn light, as she stared up at the ceiling of Logan's apartment, fuming as her thoughts ran in circles, a much better plan had occurred to her. She didn't know boats, but she knew manners and money. She'd thrown the dead weight of Logan's arm off of her chest, and gone on a hunt for all the financial documents she could find.

Nodding to herself, Rory snatched up the papers and slid on her oversized sunglasses. The door handle felt smooth under her steady hand as she opened the car, stepping gracefully from it and striding toward Mitchum Huntzberger's bank. Just because she wasn't on his newspaper, that didn't mean he wasn't going to pay.

The bank doors opened automatically before her, cool, cycled air stirring the tendrils of hair escaping from her bun. She walked confidently to the nearest teller, presenting the carefully picked over documents with a flourish.

"I would like to make a withdrawal – in fact, I'd like to close the account!"

The teller slowly popped her gum, taking the sheaf of papers in boredom.

"Right," she drawled. She sorted through the papers, looking up to squint at Rory. "Miss, you'll have to take those sunglasses off. Security reasons."

Rory fiddled with the arm of her glasses, fighting her instinctive compulsion to obey. It was a rule . Rory followed rules. But it would be _unearthly stupid_ to take her glasses off right now.

"They're medical," she muttered, dropping her hand.

"Got a doctor's note?" asked the teller. Rory choked. The bank _checked_ those? Oh God.

But the teller ignored her, going back to the documents. She swiveled over to her computer, typing in the account numbers.

"This is a lot of money, Miss Huntzberger," the teller eventually said, doubtful look more than making up for her bland, professional tone. "There will be a waiting period, and I'll need secondary confirmation from your… father."

"No!" Rory shouted. Her voice echoed throughout the cavernous bank. The milling crowd of businessmen in designer suits behind her turned to stare at her. Rory waved pathetically, wincing as she turned back to the teller. Just for a moment, out of the corner of her eye, she could swear she saw someone familiar down the line of bank tellers.

Rory snuck another look as she tried to think of a plausible story. Three tellers down, leather jacket draped from his slim shoulders, a young man leaned forward onto the granite counter. His hair was long, wild with tousled curls that Rory remember from that dorm room encounter nearly a year ago now. One hand was tucked deep into his coat pocket, the other resting on… God, the _teller's hand_? That cad!

Wait, no. No way. Absolutely no way. Rory was not watching Jess Mariano flirt with a bank teller while she was trying to rob Mitchum Huntzberger of his fortune. That would be stupid.

"No… I," God, why couldn't she think? She needed a lie! A good lie that would get her to the money. Instead, she blurted out, "I'm his wife!"

"You're Shira Huntzberger?" the teller asked slowly. Her eyes raked up and down Rory in clear amusement. "No. You're not."

"Did I say…?" Rory cut herself off, "No, I am his _mistress_, Giselle!"

Oh God. Why was she French now? What was she doing?

"Uh huh." The teller had gone from bored to exasperated. One hand snaked under the desk. Rory stared at it in horror, realizing she was fingering the silent alarm. Or not-silent? Oh God, what if it wasn't silent? "Miss, I'm going to need to see identification right now, or you and security are going to have a little talk."

Rory snapped her head around in shock, suddenly realizing that the guards were closing in on her. Silent it was. From the corner of her eye, she could see the dark form that _couldn't_ be Jess pulling a very large stack of money toward him from his teller. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket, where it outlined a distinctly rectangular shape underneath another, very recognizable shape.

Why would Jess have a gun?

Rory's thoughts slowed to mud as she stared at him, peripherally aware of the approaching guards. One took his nightstick off his belt; the other removed his cuffs. She was about to be arrested, and Jess was walking out, having already robbed the bank.

She did the only thing that came to mind. She screamed, pointing at Jess.

"Bank robber!"

The guards stopped in confusion, sharing a look. Bank robbers didn't usually admit it quite so forcefully. Behind them, Jess barely reacted. Very smooth, Rory had to admit. He just doubled his pace, ducking quickly between soccer moms and business men to make his way to the door while the guards floundered. Rory made a stabbing motion with her hand, and the guards turned in bafflement to look behind them – where Jess no longer was.

Rory took advantage of their distraction, running flat out to Jess's side. She hooked herself under his arm, halfway hoping it would look like she had been taken hostage at the very same moment she hoped no one was looking their direction at all.

Jess looked down, jaw dropping and eyes widening as he recognized her. His feet stalled.

"_Rory_?"

"Jess, move!" Rory hissed. "The guards!"

Jess nodded shortly, hustling her out the door. Outside, Rory whipped off her sunglasses, and grabbed Jess by the hand when he tried to divert himself to his car – the beater she'd almost recognized from before.

"My car is faster," Rory said. She shoved him toward the passenger door, unlocking the car keylessly before jumping into the driver's side. Her heart was pumping incredibly fast – like that one time she exercised.

It felt _good_.

Rory swiveled the wheel, her tires screeching as she pulled out of her parking space. She flopped one arm over the back of her seat, turning to look quickly at her blind spot – and the guards rushing out of the bank – before slamming her foot down hard on the pedal. She expected sirens any second. They needed to get as much space between them and the bank as possible.

"So," Jess started. His voice was slow, deliberately casual. Rory could see him settling himself from the corner of her eye – she commanded herself not to look, keeping her eyes on the roads heading out of New Haven. "Fancy meeting you here."

Rory laughed, giddiness overtaking her as they hit the city limits sign. She tossed a grin over at Jess.

"Guess you got your wish."

Jess crossed his arms. He didn't exactly look happy. Which Rory couldn't figure out _at all_.

"Oh?"

"I'm finally running away with you!"

Jess's lips twisted.

"Yeah. Stop the car."

"What?"

A sudden siren split the air, followed by many more. They weren't out of this yet. Rory peered into her rearview mirror, hands clutching at the wheel with determination as she took in the sheer number of police behind her. Locals, county, staties. She thought she might even see a private security car or two.

"I said," Jess replied, pitching his voice louder, "Stop the car. Let me out. I'll take my chances with the cops."

Rory smiled to herself. Sometimes, she'd really missed Jess.

She moved her hand off of the stick for just a second, patting at his hand; he flinched away for some reason.

"That's sweet! But you don't need to do that! I think we'll make it!"

She made a hard turn, off the interstate and back into the twisty, small streets of small town Connecticut. The police slowed behind her, falling into single file. She was losing them. God, this was _amazing_. She hit the controls on the side dash. The car clicked and whirred, pulling the top down.

Rory threw her arms up, exulting as the wind coursed past her face. Jess reached out from beside her, grabbing the wheel to steady it. Suddenly, forcefully, she was reminded of their tutoring session years ago. Only this time Jess wasn't the bad boy – she was.

Well. Bad girl. Bad gender neutral, young American.

She threw another smile at him over her shoulder – and really, he'd only gotten prettier with age, how had she missed that last year? – and took the wheel back. She pushed the Porsche to its limits. They were nearly at the border with New York when she finally slowed. She turned to look behind them warily; she could feel Jess do the same, although his gaze was directed at her.

There was no one there. She'd done it. She'd robbed Mitchum – okay, well, Logan. And a bank. Sort of. She'd run away with Jess, finally. Actually, thinking on it, she might have kinda kidnapped him. Although he was a bank robber, so she didn't really think he had the high ground there.

But that wasn't the point! The important thing was that she'd _taken a risk_! All her life, she'd been playing by the rules, keeping her head down and being shy, and now she was finally standing up for herself, doing whatever she wanted.

_Taking_ whatever she wanted.

Flush with excitement, Rory pulled the car to a stop. Jess turned to her, sardonic look on his face demanding an explanation. Rory ignored him, doing what she'd wanted for such a long time – or the past few minutes, anyway. She reached out, pulling Jess into a long, satisfying kiss.

Or not long. Abruptly, Jess seized her by the shoulders, pushing her away. Rory touched a hand to her mouth, shocked.

"Rory!" Jess snapped, shaking her. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Rory furrowed her brow, mouthing Jess's words back at him. She didn't understand the question. She'd just had the best time of her _life_ - admittedly, in a criminal fashion she really didn't think she could tell her mother about, even if she _could_ go home, which probably wasn't likely given the horde of cops massing on the highway where her dust was still settling. Dust from a car, of course, which was _also_ stolen, and they probably had the plates of now, and what about her face? She'd kept her sunglasses on the whole time while she was in the bank, but maybe those weren't good enough, maybe they had her on tape for the whole thing, and she just _knew_ that teller would rat on her…

"Rory!" Jess shouted and Rory snapped back to herself. She struggled to take in a full breath, staring at him in horror. Oh God, oh God. What had she done? She robbed a _bank_?

Jess bit at his lip, big hazel eyes studying her in concern. His hands fell from where he'd been gripping her, one giving her an awkward pat on the arm before her drew back.

"What's going on with you?"

Rory stared at him, trembling a little with the force of her realization.

"I don't know," she mumbled.

That apparently was not a good answer. Jess shook his head, pressing two fingers across his lips before dropping his hand to swear. He pulled on his door, stepping out of the car. Rory felt a stab of panic. He couldn't leave! She let out a strangled cry, fumbling with her own door to follow him.

"Hey!" she shouted, rushing around the car to his side. Jess hadn't moved – hadn't run, thankfully – and was instead surveying their location. Rory had pulled to the side near a copse of trees, several miles out on a dirt road. The only sounds she could hear were the chirps of birds and the quiet trickle of a nearby stream. Whatever cars passed nearby were blocked entirely by the trees. "Where are you going?"

Jess frowned, shading his eyes with his hand as he looked down at her. He waited a long beat – pressuring her to notice his unmoving feet in that irritating, silent, Jess way he had – before replying baldly, "I'm not going anywhere."

The words stung. Rory obstinately refused to feel stupid, waiting him out for further explanation.

"I'm trying to decide if this is a good place to ditch the car," Jess continued with a put upon sigh.

"We can't ditch the car!" Rory replied. Jess looked over at her. "It's my boyfriend's!"

Somehow, again, that was not a good answer. Jess's frown deepened, and he took several long strides away from her. She hurried to keep up with him, cursing the stupid decision that morning that led her to believe heels were proper bank robbing attire. Every few paces, Jess would stop, bending down to pick up a stick or branch.

"We're going to burn it?" Wait, no. That didn't make any sense. "Oh, we're going to hide it?"

That made much more sense. In confirmation, Jess slanted a silent, sarcastically congratulatory look over his shoulder at her. Quickly, she joined in collecting branches. She wanted to pull her own weight, after all. In short order, they had a pile large enough to disguise the Porsche from immediate recognition. Rory placed the last branch on it mournfully. Jess had a point – and her brain did too, since she did realize the cops had the license plate. But it was a good car, and she had more than a few fond memories of its backseat. She just hoped it wasn't entirely ruined by sap before Logan retrieved it.

And on that note…, Rory thought, dropping down to the grassy ground. She looked up at Jess, brushing her hair nervously from her face.

"I guess we should talk, shouldn't we? About the kiss?"

Jess stopped in his tracks. He had been pacing back and forth – one hand going to the money in his pocket again and again, as if to reassure himself. The gun he had tucked into the waistband of his jeans, as if to keep it at the ready, should the cops actually catch up to them. The thought was still sort of mind blowing to Rory. Jess. With a _gun_. Sort of sexy, too, although Rory hated to admit it. She'd thought she was over the whole bad boy thing.

He glared at her.

"How about we don't?"

She really hadn't missed his snippiness. Rory scrunched her nose at him, pulling her legs to her chest as she looked up. The sun was right behind him, peeking over the tops of trees, making her eyes water as she returned his glare. Totally worth it, though.

"Fine, then. Why don't we talk about how you turned to a life of crime!" Rory said, doing her best Poirot solves the crime voice.

Jess looked behind him in confusion, trying to find who Rory was talking to, and Rory had to admit that was a little over the top. Still, truthful. He was a bank robber, after all.

"It just… happened," Jess eventually said.

"Oh, right. Like you just _happened_ to leave Stars Hollow without telling me? And you just _happened_ to tell me you loved me before running away again? And you just _happened_ to ask me to run away with you, abandoning everything I care about?"

Wow, Rory thought to herself. Cathartic.

Jess's features closed down, voice going taut.

"Yeah. Just like that. But instead of sitting there and judging me, _Giselle_," Rory flinched in surprise, back straightening. She hadn't realized he'd been listening at the bank – or even could. His hearing was a lot sharper than she'd thought. "Maybe you could get your ass up. We need to get out of here. The cops'll find it and we do _not_ want to be here when they do."

"Whatever," Rory said. She brushed off her knees, reaching a hand out to him. Rolling his eyes, Jess extended his hand, pulling her to her feet. She dropped it quickly, stepping away from him to make obvious her continued displeasure with him. Jess just shrugged, walking away to continue surveying the landscape.

"Oh!" Rory said suddenly. "Hey, um, is it okay if I…?"

But Jess was already too far to hear her. Huffing to herself, Rory turned away sharply and walked back to the car. Fine, if he didn't want to help, he didn't have to. She moved a few of the branches to the side, just enough to slide back into the driver's seat. Between the gear shift and the cup holders, there was a small note pad and a pen. Rory pulled the cap off the pen, holding it in her teeth as she wrote a quick note to Logan:

"I'm fine. Don't worry. Love, Rory."

She dropped the notepad onto the passenger side – along with the keys. She stared at them a moment, nose scrunched as she tried to make a decision. Should she wipe her finger prints off? There didn't seem like much point. She was leaving a note, after all, and her prints were probably everywhere already. They'd expect them anyway, theft or no.

However… Rory glanced up, looking through the lattice of branches toward Jess's stiffened, unhappy profile. Carefully, she covered her hand with the sleeve of her jacket, and reached out to wipe down as much of Jess's side of the car as possible.

Happy with herself, Rory scooted out of the car, closing the door behind her and repositioning the branches. She walked over to Jess's side anxious, to find out what was next. It was terrifying, leaving so much of her life behind. Insane. It had all happened so fast, and she still didn't really believe it. She'd wake up tomorrow, back in Logan's bed, go back to class, and talk to her mom on the phone. Wouldn't she?

"What's next?" she asked hesitantly.

"We walk. Away from the highway, toward town. Hopefully they'll have a bus into New York. If not… then I guess we buy."

"Buy?"

Jess looked over at her, dark eyes lit by amusement. He clarified his point by tapping his jacket and the money within.

"A car."

"Oh," Rory breathed.

Wow, yeah. Take charge, criminal Jess… he was sexy. Definitely sexy. He had the same brooding, unapproachable thing he'd had as a teen, but it was a little more justified now. Being sent to Stars Hollow wasn't much reason for angst, really, but being a runaway bank robber on the lam with his ex girlfriend that totally did the trick. Just thinking about it gave Rory shivers.

It was almost enough to cover the growing hollow in her stomach and the creeping feeling that she was, right now, completely destroying her life.

Jess was already walking away, up the dirt road toward the frontage road that would lead them into town. Nervousness speeding her steps, Rory jogged to catch up with him as they walked into the setting sun. She struggled with her thoughts, pushing them away even as she fought to find something neutral and safe to concentrate on.

"We will talk, you know," she eventually said, looking over at Jess. "About the kiss."

She got no response. Yeah, maybe that wasn't exactly safe either.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **I'll Be Bonnie, You Be Clyde**  
Rating:** PG (with options for higher ratings later on)  
**Pairings/Characters:** Rory, Jess, Rory/Logan (implied), Rory/Jess (eventually)  
**Warnings:** none  
**Word count:** 4023  
**Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls belongs to the Palladinos, WB/CW, and Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions.  
**Summary:** What if Gilmore Girls had 100% more bank robbery in it? S5 finale AU

**A/N:** Thank you to finnigan_geist for encouraging (and beta'ing) my completely stupid ideas.

* * *

_In which Jess and Rory are adventurous; Cousins?; Jess is unhelpful; The artistic abilities of the New Haven police; And how many bullets would it take?_

By the time they reached the town center and the nicer hotels that Jess had explained were their best shot at staying hidden – cops always checked the low rent crap holes first – Rory's feet were thoroughly sore. She limped up to the reception desk, nearly collapsing against it, as Jess spoke to the corpulent, uniformed man behind it. He edged away from Rory in distaste; she scowled to herself.

She must have walked _miles_ today. Like to see a man like – she glanced up, peering at his nametag – _Randy_ do that in three inch heels.

"How many nights will that be, sir?" Randy asked.

"Just the one," Jess said, adding very quietly under his breath, "I hope."

Randy nodded, looking up with a wry look at Jess's comment.

"College kids, eh? I remember hitch hiking my way home, back in the day. Quite an adventure!"

"That's us," Rory said with false cheer. "Adventurous!"

"Any chance there's a bus station nearby that'll take us in to New York City? We're hoping to visit my folks," Jess said. He had just the right tone of awkward worry, verging on desperation for a broke college kid trying to save a few bucks on the way home. Rory watched him in admiration. He was certainly good.

Then again, Jess being a good liar. Well, Rory really ought to have known that.

"No, no bus into the city here. But there's a local that goes two towns over – they have an MTA station. It'll cost you maybe ten, fifteen bucks to get into New York, depending on when you go tomorrow and how close you really want to get to Grand Central," Randy said, tapping his lip as he thought. Jess nodded his thanks, and Randy went back to typing at his computer, bringing up a list of the vacant rooms.

"Not to get all personal here," Randy said, chuckling. Rory immediately hated him. "But do you kids want a king or –?"

"Two queens," Jess said quickly, interrupting.

"Huh. Really? Couple of attractive kids like you, I woulda thought you were together."

"We're cousins," Jess said. Rory lifted her head up off of where it rested on the counter to look at him, startled by his coldness. That wasn't out of the realm of possibility for the future – what with Luke and Lorelai dating, and all – but she really did think ex-girlfriend rated higher than future step-cousin in terms of relationships.

"Okie-doke. And was that smoking, or non?"

"Non," Rory said sweetly, ignoring Jess's glower. If they were cousins, then he sure as hell wasn't smoking tonight.

"Right, one night, two queens, non-smoking… and it's a little cheaper if you guys take the view over the parking lot. Do you want to do that?" Jess nodded, and Randy rang them up, "Room 507, elevator's right over there. That'll be fifty-three fifty. Credit card or cash?"

"Cash," Jess said, pulling out his wallet. To Rory's surprise, he removed a crumpled ten and two twenties to pay – he wasn't digging into the heist money at all. Did he have a _real_ job somewhere? Or was he just good at laundering?

Randy swiped a pair of cards through the computer, magnetizing them as keys, before handing one to each Rory and Jess with a smile.

"Have a good stay!"

Rory and Jess mumbled their thanks, and hastily made their way over to the elevator. Rory groaned as she leaned back against the elevator wall, toeing off her shoes. She swiped tiredly at the floor without bending over, missing the shoes entirely. In fact, her fingertips really only grazed her knees. From beside her, she could hear Jess's snort of laughter.

"Need help with those?"

Rory opened one eye to glare at him. He looked amused and unruffled and thoroughly unaffected by their tromp through the wilderness, aside from the hint of sunburn reddening his high cheekbones.

"No," she grunted out. Ever since this began, he'd been singularly uncooperative, standoffish, and, frankly, kind of mean. So no, she did not need his help. Feeling herself creak with the movement, she bent over unsteadily, and finally snatched up her shoes just as the elevator dinged. She jerked at the sound, nearly falling over. She just barely caught herself with a hand against the elevator wall, smiling up at the couple just beyond the doors.

"Hi," she said weakly, struggling to stand. The couple moved back silently, letting her limp out behind Jess.

Inside their room, Rory flopped onto the nearest bed, dropping her shoes with a loud _thunk_ and covering her eyes with her arm. Jess didn't even try to muffle his laughter.

"Thanks for the help back there," she groused.

"You're welcome," Jess returned. He sounded distracted.

Rory uncovered her face, turning over onto her stomach inelegantly to keep an eye on him while she stretched and splayed herself out on the bed. Jess was emptying his pockets – money in the drawer, on top of the Bible. The gun he pulled from his waistband. He turned it over in his hands, contemplating. Rory's heart skipped at the sight. This whole day she could almost rationalize – but Jess standing there with a gun, examining it with sure eyes and surer hands, trying to decide whether it was a liability or a defense, evoked more feelings than she could handle. She felt dizzy, breathless.

In the end, Jess placed it in the drawer, right on top of the money. Rory guessed he felt secure enough for now.

"So," she said, nodding her head toward the drawer. "How much did we get?"

Jess sat heavily on his bed, hands gripping his knees as he leaned down to look her in the eye.

"Rory," he said tersely. "We need to get one thing straight. There is no 'we'. You are not a bank robber. You did not _help_ and you did not steal anything."

Rory pushed up from the bed, swinging her legs around to sit. She could feel her muscles trembling in anger just as much as exhaustion.

"_What_?"

No no no. The whole point was that she _was_ stealing from Mitchum! That she _was_ taking daring, stupid, horrible risks. Jess couldn't just take that from her!

"I helped you get away! How would you have out run the cops without the Porsche?" she asked, poking a finger into his face. Jess wrapped his hand around it, pushing it away, before fixing her with a sardonic look.

"I was free and clean before you started shouting. _I_ knew what I was doing." Jess sat back, a self-satisfied look on his face as his eyes raked her up and down. Self consciously, Rory crossed her arms in front of her chest, despite the demure blouse she was wearing. Jess lifted her chin, challenging her. "What about you? _Giselle_?"

"I –" Rory started, and then cut herself off, looking down. She looked back up at him through the hair falling around her face, hoping it hid some of her embarrassment. "How much did you hear?"

Jess waved a hand through the air.

"Not much. I didn't even realize it was you until you grabbed me. Things started clicking in the car. Whose account were you trying to get into? The boyfriend's?"

Her lips twisted ruefully as she admitted, "His dad's."

Jess let out a low whistle, and for a moment, Rory could swear there was a touch of admiration in his eyes. He shook his head, digging around on the night stand between their beds to find the TV remote.

He brandished it at her, expression steady and clear as he asked, "You ready?"

"Wait, first… I want to know," Rory said. She licked her lips, looking up into his eyes beseechingly, "Why do you do this?"

Jess looked down for a moment, eyes tracing over his hands.

"You really want to know?" he asked softly. "It started with my dad. He showed up two years ago in Stars Hollow, looking for me, but left without even talking to me. That's why I had to leave. I had to find out why it was so important for him to find me."

Jess slid forward, almost off his bed, reaching out to take Rory's hands. She looked deep into his eyes, heart caught in her throat.

"Rory, he's dying. There's nothing. We don't have any money to pay for his treatments. It was either robbing banks…. Or letting my dad die."

In all this time, all of the nights she'd fallen asleep angry, tears staining her cheeks, she hadn't imagined this would be the explanation of why he left.

"Oh, Jess…"

Rory leaned in, eyes fluttering shut. She wasn't sure if she wanted to offer him a hug or comfort him with a kiss, but she was interrupted by the sharp crack of Jess's laughter. Her eyes popped open, and she pulled back in disgust.

"Really, Rory? You bought that? Jeez."

"Jess!" Rory reached out to punch him in the arm. Jess took the blow easily, grinning and laughing at her. He really wasn't going to tell her. Fine, then.

"Whatever," she grumbled. "Just turn on the TV."

Jess leaned back against his bed, seemingly relaxed. Rory had to wonder how many times he'd done this – searched for reports of himself on the evening news. She couldn't bring herself to lay down, sitting sharply upright, breaths coming loud and shallow in her own ears as she watched Jess flick the TV channels up to CNN.

Paula Zahn's face swam into focus on the old TV. A moment later, the sound turned on. Rory pulled a face, looking over to Jess.

"I thought we were staying at a _nice_ place?"

Jess furrowed his brow, looking over his shoulder to her. "What, you have a problem with Econolodge?"

"No, just—" Impatience and worry welled in Rory as she watched Paula Zahn talk about nothing in particular. She felt like kicking her legs like a little girl, and then the screen suddenly split, a red headline racing across the bottom. Her eyes widened as she read it, and she exclaimed, "Shhh, this is us!"

"—For those of us who haven't been following this story with us, Jason Lee of local news affiliate WCCT is just joining us now. He's outside the New Haven police station, where it looks like the family of the missing co-ed – a Rory Gilmore – is about to give a press conference. Jason, I know you've been there all afternoon, talking to bank staff and witnesses. What have you got for us?"

"Well, Paula, this is a harrowing and bizarre story that has shaken this small community to its roots. This afternoon, Rory Gilmore, a student at nearby Yale University, disappeared. It seems that she was kidnapped, although the police have been cagey about admitting even that. What we do know is that Miss Gilmore walked into First National Bank of New Haven this afternoon. Her face, as you can see in the closed circuit video—"

The channel cut away from the split screen of Paula and Jason to show grainy security footage of Rory. Her large sunglasses obscured most of her face, but not enough for her to be unrecognizable, Rory realized with a sinking heart.

"—was disguised. Now, we don't know yet what that means. The police are being very tight lipped about what they are thinking, or what I am told was a very strange exchange Miss Gilmore had with a bank teller."

"Do you think that she was drugged?" Paula Zahn asked seriously.

"We just can't say at this time, Paula. It's certainly possible."

"So, Jason – let me just get that footage back up – can you walk me through what happened?"

"Certainly, Paula. We know that after Miss Gilmore talked to the bank teller, the silent alarm was pressed. Now we don't know if Miss Gilmore was acting as an accomplice, or if she is now a hostage. But you can see, the current suspect is just out of range from the camera. He passes through the frame very quickly, he doesn't show his face, and Miss Gilmore runs over to him."

A white streak appeared on the security footage. Oh God, they were writing on it. Like it was a football game. An arrow was drawn onto the film, sketching out the path that Jess would take on the screen. They drew a circle around Rory, adding another arching arrow to show how she would intercept him.

"And then they exit the bank, taking what we now know is her _boyfriend's_ car – a wealthy local student, also of Yale University, Logan Huntzberger – before leading the police on a high speed chase and ultimately evading the police," Paula continued for him. The camera went back to her at the desk, when she rested her chin on her palm, pen still grasped by her fingers. "But Jason, isn't there another angle? It's a bank, they've got to have more than one camera!"

"They do indeed, Paula."

The screen shifted to more indistinct security footage, this time from a vantage point just over the shoulder of the teller Jess had talked to before. His face, still, was not very clear. He kept looking to the side, rubbing his hand across his face – doing everything a self-respecting bank robber would to prevent the camera from taking a good picture.

"The local police have been working on an artist's rendering of this man, which they just issued to us a short time ago."

Up on the screen, a bad line drawing of a man came up. It looked nothing like Jess. It actually looked like a Wooly Willy, without the big red nose.

"We know that he is Caucasian, but the rest of the details are sparse. They think he is between eighteen and thirty years of age, medium build, with dark eyes and hair. The teller estimated his height at around six feet, but the police experts, upon viewing the footage, have told us that he appears to be standing on his toes. Or maybe a box. They think his height is between 5'5" and 5'8". The only other description they could give, via the teller, was that he was," the reporter paused, a sour twist coming to his mouth as he stroked his fingers through the air to create quotation marks, "'dreamy.'"

Rory stifled a giggle; Jess sat up, angrily gesturing at the TV.

"I am not that short! I'm 5'10"!" He lay back, grumbling to himself, "And I don't stand on boxes."

The report cut to commercial from there, right after another promise that the live news conference from Rory's family would be happening "soon", although the reporters had no assurance of when precisely. Jess lifted up his arm, pointing the remote at the screen to mute it.

"So…" he started, looking over at her.

"So," she exhaled harshly. She didn't really know where he was going with this, but it seemed like a "so" kind of moment. Her eyes kept going back to the screen, worried that her mother's face was going to break into the commercials at any moment.

"So," Jess started again. He drew himself up to sit, looking at her seriously. "We need to talk about what's next. They don't think you did anything wrong."

"And they don't know what you look like!" Rory replied. That seemed like good news, but Jess's expression darkened.

"Rory, that's beside the point. You can go home. You don't need to be here."

"What?" Rory felt like she'd been caught flat footed. There were supposed to be consequences. This was supposed to be big – life changing, for good or ill. The idea that she might just get away with it and go back to her normal life as if nothing had ever happened left her feeling queasy.

And relieved.

Jess reached out to touch her hand.

"You should go home."

"I don't want to," Rory blurted, staring directly at him. She wasn't sure how true that was. She yearned desperately for a change, to break out of the stifling, pressured monotony she'd fallen into. But, crime? Really?

Jess just shook his head, turning the volume back up as Paula Zahn returned from commercial.

"Good evening, I'm Paula Zahn. We're jumping right back into the developing story we've been following all afternoon – the strange disappearance of Yale co-ed Rory Gilmore. I'm joined now by WCCT reporter Jason Lee, who is live in New Haven, waiting for a news conference by Rory Gilmore's family to begin. Jason, what other details have you found out? I know there is information trickling in just now about Miss Gilmore's history. Is it possible that she's not as innocent as she seems?"

"Thank you, Paula, I'm glad to be here. It's completely possible. I was chatting with a witness at the scene just moments ago, and it seems that before Rory Gilmore left with her possible kidnapper, she claimed not only to be _French_, but to be the mistress of her boyfriend's father."

Rory's cheeks burned at the words, and she could feel Jess's gaze slowly turning toward her.

"Mistress to her boyfriend's father – the same boyfriend whose car her abductor stole this afternoon?" Paula asked. Jason gave a short nod of confirmation. "What kind of veracity do you think that claim has?"

"It's hard to say, Paula," Jason scratched at his chin, flipping through the notes on his pad before looking up again at the camera. "But just a few calls back to Rory Gilmore's home town – Stars Hollow – confirmed that she is a known adulteress."

Jess's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline and again he hit the mute button.

"Adulteress?" he asked.

Rory covered her face with her hands. God, this wasn't happening. She was _not_ having her first appearance ever on CNN as a "known adulteress."

Voice muffled, Rory replied, "Not with Logan's dad… but yeah."

Jess laughed a little. Through her fingers, Rory could see him shaking his head.

"You did _not_ turn out the way I thought you would."

Rory frowned to herself. What the hell was that supposed to mean? _She_ was a disappointment? She wasn't the run away, or the criminal! Or, well, hadn't been before today.

"It was Dean," she added, taking satisfaction in his flinch.

"Oh, jeez, Rory! I did not need to know that!" He threw a disgusted look over at her. It wasn't really clear whether it was more due to _Dean_ or _adultery_. He continued snidely, "When was it? Right after you turned me down in your dorm room?"

No, Rory thought to herself. But it wasn't like Jess coming to see her hadn't been a deciding factor. She opened her mouth to explain, but couldn't get a word out before Jess interrupted her, contradicting what he'd just said.

"Never mind. I don't care. You made it clear a long time ago that it's none of my business who sticks it in you."

Rory's mouth fell open, breath whooshing out of her lungs as she gaped at him in shock. Tears welled in her eyes. _Stick it in her_? Of all the gross, awful things she'd thought of herself after sleeping with Dean, she'd never thought of their affair so crudely or so cruelly.

"Rory…" Jess bit his lip, voice trailing off. He sounded ashamed of what he'd just said, expression turning repentant. Before he could continue, though, Lorelai's face filled the TV screen. Jess fumbled for the remote control, turning the volume up, although he kept casting guilty looks Rory's way.

The camera pulled back from Lorelai, panning over the crowd assembled in front of the police station. On the far edge of the steps, nearly out of the camera's view altogether, Mitchum, Logan, and Honor stood. Honor kept turning, touching her brother's arm in concern before reaching out to squeeze his hand reassuringly. It looked like he had been crying. Huddled together, near the podium itself, was Rory's family. Emily and Richard stood in the center, looking both distraught and angry. Lorelai stood of to the side, supported by Luke. Rory's eyes skirted selfishly away from their faces, unwilling to take in just how bad, how frightened they looked. Instead she looked to their hands, where Lorelai's wrung together in worry, where Luke's bigger hands covered them, trying to calm her. For a moment, their hands interlaced, Lorelai relaxing ever so slightly against Luke's bulk.

Rory tilted her head, struck for a moment by how comfortable they looked together – despite all the worry and stress they were going through.

"Cousins?" she tossed over to Jess. He shrugged in response, smiling faintly. "How did you know?"

"Luke called me in the middle of the night yesterday. Your mom proposed – he said yes."

"Way to go, Mom," Rory said to herself.

Her smile faded quickly, though, as Emily Gilmore strode over to the podium. Rory's grandmother fixed the camera with a steely look, hands gripping the edges of the podium firmly. She cleared her throat once, and then began to speak in a tone familiar to Rory from the many, many times she had fired maids.

"Today, my granddaughter Rory was abducted by a disturbed, disgusting thug. I want to make no public appeal, no heartfelt declaration of my wrenching grief – although my daughter and I are consumed by worry. No, I want to talk directly to the criminal, the miscreant, the _vagabond_ who snatched my granddaughter away. And I want him to know that whatever the police do or don't do," she turned briefly to jab a finger at a shocked police captain, fire in her eyes, "And if you fail, I _will_ sue you.

"But if they do fail, it doesn't matter. My husband and I have inexhaustible resources to hunt you down like the dog you are."

Jess stood abruptly from the bed – Rory's wide eyes tracked over to him as she listened to her grandmother rant about the feel of blood on her hands. Jess opened the nightstand drawer, pulling out the gun. He flipped the cylinder of the revolver open, exposing each fully loaded chamber. His thumb rubbed over the backs of the six bullets as he looked between the TV and the gun – almost as if he was trying to decide if six shots were really enough to put Emily Gilmore down.

"What are you doing?" Rory asked in alarm.

Jess threw an _are you kidding_ look over to her.

"Seeing if I can survive tomorrow."

There was a brief scuffle on the TV, drawing their attention back to the screen. Lorelai, perhaps realizing that, even if she agreed with the sentiment, threatening both a lawsuit against the police helping her and bloody murder against the man holding her daughter was not very productive, interrupted Emily. She wrestled her mother away from the microphone, pushing her back into Richard's arms, who held tight to his wife, sparing her only an apologetic look.

Lorelai ducked back to the microphone, embarrassment momentarily overtaking the worry etched into her face.

"Sorry about that. She's off her meds. Needs another drinky," Lorelai said, forcing a grin as she tipped her hand toward her mouth in mime. "Obviously, we won't be suing anyone!"

"Lorelai!" Emily protested. "Don't promise that!"

Lorelai clenched her eyes shut, trying to ignore her mother. It was possible she was counting to ten, although the microphone did not pick it up. When she opened her eyes, they were sad and tired – exhausted in a way only spending hours in uncertain, frantic worry could bring.

"Whoever you are – criminal, or vagabond, or vegan – I don't care. Just bring my baby back safe. _Please_."

"Turn it off," Rory whispered, eyes blurring with tears. Jess complied silently, and the bright image of her mother fizzled out of Rory's vision.

Jess settled the gun back in its drawer and moved over to sit next to Rory. His hand rested awkwardly on the bed, unbearably close to Rory's. He made no gesture toward touching her. Toward comforting her.

"You should go home."

Rory shook her head furiously, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I _can't_."


	3. Chapter 3

**Titl****e: **I'll Be Bonnie, You Be Clyde**  
****Rating:** PG (with options for higher ratings later on)  
**Pairings/Characters:** Rory, Jess, Rory/Logan (implied), Rory/Jess (eventually)  
**Warnings:** none  
**Word count:** 3887  
**Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls belongs to the Palladinos, WB/CW, and Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions.  
**Summary:** What if Gilmore Girls had 100% more bank robbery in it? S5 finale AU

**A/N:** Thank you to finnigan_geist for encouraging (and beta'ing) my completely stupid ideas.

* * *

_In which we find overeager SWAT; Reunions; Rory has what now?; Shoe fetish; And a not so cryptic note._

"Police! Open up and come out with your hands up!" a SWAT officer shouted. He waited a long beat before waving the men with the battering ram forward. Next to him, Randy winced.

"I can just go down and code a key…" he started.

The SWAT officer ignored him, motioning to the others grimly.

"Do it."

_Crack!_

Rory awoke with a start, flailing as she fell off the edge of her bed, taking half the sheets with her. The loud _crack_ sounded again – sharper this time as the door gave way. A stampede of heavy, thudding steps filled the room as Rory struggled with her blankets, trying to fling them off and then grabbing them back to clutch to her chest with wide eyes.

Five men tore the room apart, covering the window with guns, pulling the sheets from Jess's freshly tucked bed, ducking their heads into the bathroom, and cautiously prying the hotel mirror up from the wall.

"Clear!" they shouted as one. The man nearest to Rory took off his face shield, kneeling down to extend a hand to her. "We have the girl."

Rory flinched away from him, staring into his serious, tanned face. Her heart was racing, her mind blank. A stupid part of her wanted to cry that it _wasn't fair!_ She couldn't get caught now!

An even stupider part of her wanted to ask where Jess was.

The officer waved a hand in front of her face, frowning, before pulling out a penlight to shine into her eyes. Rory glared at him.

"Shock," he pronounced, hauling her up by her arms. The sheet she was clinging to fell to the floor. God, she was so glad she'd slept in her clothes. He ducked his head, looking into her eyes and speaking slowly as he guided her from the room. "It's o-kay, Miss. You are safe now. No-one will hurt you."

Rory rolled her eyes, but played along. Struck dumb by trauma was probably a good story, for now. As they left, a thought occurred to her.

"Oh," she blurted, turning in his arms. "Don't forget my shoes!"

Back in the room, one man looked up. He nodded quickly, snatching her discarded shoes up from the foot of her bed. Rory grinned at him, giving a thumbs-up, before she remembered herself. She put on a dazed expression, letting her steps falter and the SWAT officer holding her bear most of her weight.

The officer, Jimenez, walked her out of the hotel, down to the parking lot filled with yet more police as well as reporters. A large white tent had been set up next to an ambulance. Jimenez snapped off a quick salute to a smartly dressed policeman, who then issued a loud, muffled announcement through a bullhorn. The gathered crowd behind the police barrier sent up a cheer. Rory turned her face away, into Jimenez's armored chest and he kindly guided her over to the tent.

He released her, walking over to report to his superior; Rory was immediately mobbed.

Lorelai crushed her with a hug, saying her name over and over again into her hair. Her grip was tight – relieved and desperate at the same time and Rory felt herself succumbing to her mother's overwhelming emotions. She trembled in her mother's arms, eyes wet as Lorelai pulled back to smile tearfully at her.

"Marco?" Lorelai asked softly.

Voice cracking, Rory replied back, "Polo."

Lorelai kissed her on the forehead, drawing her back in for another tight hug. She didn't quite release her, letting Richard and Emily take their own awkward, one-armed turns welcoming Rory back.

"We were very worried about you, young lady," Emily said sternly, although a thin smile belied her words. She didn't blame Rory.

Rory gulped at the thought, shying away. She _should_ blame her.

She cast her gaze away from them, searching for something, anything, that would not wrack her with guilt. Instead, her eyes settled on Logan. Her eyes scanned up his body slowly, treasuring every detail of his appearance. From his designer jeans to the stub of pencil tucked up next to his frosted tips, the sight of him had never been more welcome.

He was standing on the far end of the tent, posture slumped and defeated as he appeared to listen to his father talk passionately into his cell phone. Rory's heart thumped once as Logan's eyes lifted to meet hers. A wide smile broke out on his face – charm almost chasing all of the worry from his eyes. In a few long strides, he was at her side, the first person to extricate her fully from her mother's grasp.

"Hey, Ace," he said, breathing into her ear as he hugged her.

Rory wrapped her arms around his neck, replying softly, "Hey, you. Did you get my note?"

His breathy laughter tickled.

"I did. Very thoughtful of you."

Reluctantly, Rory disengaged. Of all people, she knew Logan would understand. No one ever hated Mitchum the way he did. And a bank robbery – a wild chase through suburban Connecticut? He dreamed of stunts like that. She smiled brightly at the thought, still holding hands with him as the rest of the world filtered back in.

Luke cleared his throat, shifting in awkwardly to stand next to her. Rory looked up, smiling at him. He moved in to give her a quick hug. Awkwardly. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked away.

"The cops are ready for you."

Rory was slow to let go of Logan and slower to walk as Luke directed her over to an area set up as a make shift infirmary, interrogation room, and coffee bar. Her eyes lit up as she took in the last.

"Oooh, coffee!"

A nicely built EMT intercepted her as she sped toward the barista. He wielded a very cold stethoscope at her, pulling her over to a short bench.

"None of that, Miss, until we check you out."

The cops, joining them now, frowned at each other over the EMT's shoulder as Emily strode quickly into their midst. She held a steaming, tantalizing cup of coffee between her hands, and she sipped from it while she upbraided the police.

"You didn't check her before? My God! What if she were in ill health – who knows what that ruffian has done to her? Why didn't you do this sooner? Where is your commanding officer?" She turned away momentarily, snapping her fingers high in the air, "McNutley, take a note! I want you to get a copy of Rory's medical file as soon as possible to file for malfeasance by the city of New Haven."

A weedy, balding man who appeared over Emily's shoulder with disconcerting speed nodded silently. He did indeed take down one long, obsequious note.

"How is she?" Emily asked, looking over Rory's head as if she was not there. "She's not pregnant, is she?"

"Grandma!" Rory exclaimed in mortification. The EMT shot her a puzzled look, opening and closing his mouth.

"Well, I don't know! In my day, a woman spent one night unchaperoned with _any_ man – let alone a hobo – and she was completely ruined."

"He wasn't a hobo!" Rory bit her lip, suddenly wondering how much she should say. Quickly, she backpedaled, "That I could tell. Maybe he was."

"Well, was he or wasn't he? Did he give you," her voice dropped to near a whisper, "the roofies?"

Rory tried to process just what Emily actually thought she meant by that. While she was thinking, Lorelai came over to wrap an arm snugly around her.

"Okay, Mom. You're not helping," Lorelai said cheerily. Rory didn't think she'd stopped smiling – or let her out of her sight – since Rory entered the tent. She redirected her attention to the EMT, who gave the all clear, before leaning in to tell Rory, "They're ready for you. You okay, hon? 'Cause I can start talking in Esperanto 'til they back off, if you want."

"You learned Esperanto while I was gone?" Rory asked.

"Had to fill the time somehow, Sweets."

The pair settled onto the bench in the interrogation area. Emily and McNutley stood behind them , whispering something that Rory was sure was either about Esperanto or roofies and that she did not really want to hear. The two police officers from before, plain clothes detectives wearing their best Briscoe and Green expressions, pulled up rickety chairs to sit in. From the corner of her eye, Rory could see Logan and Mitchum drifting closer – just enough to hear, but far enough away to deny they had.

The Briscoe-y one flipped open a notebook, lifting up one eyebrow as he looked at her.

"So, Miss Gilmore," he started. Rory gulped, hand clutching tightly to her mother's. Oh God, what was she going to say? She and Jess hadn't gotten their stories straight. She had no story. Nothing. "How are you?"

Rory blinked rapidly. It took a moment to process the completely non-fifth amendment invoking question.

"I'm… okay," she replied honestly. "Dazed, I guess."

"I know you've been through something pretty rough," said the Green-ish guy. He seemed to be playing good cop. "But I need you to focus. What did he look like?"

"And, hon, we need to know _everything_ that went down at that hotel. You got me?"

Huh. They both seemed pretty good-cop. No spotlight treatment, or badgering about how her partner had already sold her out. Of course, the fact that Jess was nowhere to be found might have had something to do with that.

And yeah, Rory thought irritably, where exactly _was_ Jess?

"Rory, sweetie," Lorelai prompted, squeezing Rory's hand lightly. "It'd make mommy very happy if you answered the nice policemen so we can put the bastard who did this to you down, okay?"

"Sorry," she mumbled. She took a deep breath, feigning steadying herself – and then another as she realized she still needed to stall. She couldn't just tell them what Jess looked like. "I guess I'm still in shock. Nothing happened at the hotel, though. You don't have to… _nothing_ happened. He got queen beds."

Not that she was bitter or anything. She hadn't planned on sleeping with Jess, but a rejection was a rejection.

"Did he say why he took you?"

Rory shrugged her shoulders minutely.

"Fast car, I think. He said he saw me going in. I guess he just wanted a hostage in case he didn't make it out."

The detectives shared a look, somewhat disbelieving. They must have watched the security footage. Rory ducked her head down, avoiding their eyes.

"Is that all?" she asked in a small voice.

"I think that it is, Rory," Emily pronounced waspishly from behind her. "I will not have you detectives harassing this poor girl any further."

The Briscoe-y detective rubbed a hand across his forehead. He looked tired. Rory felt a pang of sympathy for him. He must have been dealing with Emily Gilmore for hours now. He held up one finger, preventing Lorelai and Rory from standing.

"Just one more, Miss. _What did he look like_? We wanna nail this guy, just like you, Ma'am," he said, shooting a look directly over Rory's shoulder at Emily. "But the camera didn't give us anything to work with."

"I…" Rory's breath caught in her throat. She'd spent the entire night with him. What could she say? What would they possibly believe? "I don't know."

The detectives' expressions hardened, and Rory panicked, blurting out the first thing that came to mind, "I have prosopagnosia!"

"You have _what_?"

Rory could see Lorelai frowning next to her, but plowed on regardless, "Face blindness. I can't remember faces. It's well documented in psychology. Oliver Sacks has a whole book…"

The detectives still looked skeptical; Emily, thankfully, intervened.

"Oh, Rory, I had no idea! You poor girl. When we get back, I will find the finest doctors in the world to treat you. Is this why you always had such difficulty telling apart the East Coast Gibsons and the West Coast Gibsons?"

Rory craned her neck with difficulty, looking up at her grandmother with liquid, earnest eyes.

"Yes, Grandma."

"My word. You really should have said something. Lorelai, why didn't you say anything?"

Lorelai was still giving Rory a weird look.

"… Sorry, Mom. Hey, did I ever tell you Rory has prosopagnosia? Man, does _that_ make Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon hard!"

The detectives sighed at the interplay and stood.

"I'm afraid without a description we're not going to get very far, Ma'am," said the Green-ish one. "Thank you for your time."

"Um," Rory said suddenly. She stuck out a foot, wiggling her toes at them. "Can I get my shoes back?"

Briscoe-detective scratched his chin.

"We were going to keep those as evidence. He didn't have a foot fetish or anything, did he?"

"No, not at all. No fingerprints or saliva or DNA on them!" she assured them. Briscoe's eyebrows drew together as he was unfortunately forced to think about how any of that might happen. He shook it off, gesturing to a uniformed officer who delivered her shoes – bagged and labeled – back to Rory.

She thanked him profusely.

The detectives cleared out, and the Gilmores stood, making their way to the edge of the tent. Rory cast a longing look over her shoulder toward Logan. He just shrugged helplessly – no way would he be able to take her back to campus with Lorelai playing Mama Bear – and gestured that he would call her. She smiled back at him. That would have to be enough, for now.

"My plan is that we run really, really fast," Lorelai said. She shifted her grip, releasing Rory's shoulders to hold only her hand. "Ready? Go!"

"What?" Rory croaked out, right before Lorelai set off at a dash, pulling Rory along over the grass between the tent and the other side of the parking lot. Between them and their car, a hundred cameras flashed and a thousand reporters tried to shove microphones in their faces. Rory closed her eyes, letting her mother guide them until she collided with the Jeep.

"What was that?" she gasped out.

"Hurry, get in the car! They're catching up!"

Rory shuffled around to the other side of the car in her bare feet, wheezing and clutching tight the evidence bag holding her shoes. She managed to hop in right before the crush of reporters got there. The tires squealed as Lorelai backed out, TV personalities diving out of the way.

It wasn't until they were on the highway that either breathed a sigh of relief.

"So, prosopagnosia?" Lorelai asked, giving Rory a sideways glance. Her fingers clenched tightly around the steering wheel.

Rory slid down in her seat.

"It's a very serious condition," she offered.

"Rory," Lorelai said, voice even as she stared ahead. Yep, Rory thought miserably. This was bad. "You lied. _I_ lied! I had to lie to my mother for you!"

"You lie to Grandma all the time!"

"Which, admittedly," Lorelai continued as if Rory had not spoken, "Was a lot of fun. But you made me lie to the police. What the hell is going on?"

Rory knocked her head back against the hard leather of the head rest. She mumbled, "It's complicated."

"Okay, hon, let's take it from the top. Why were you in that bank? Were they handing out free toasters, or studly firemen?"

"I was trying to steal from Mitchum Huntzeberger's account," Rory confessed, squeezing her eyes shut as she waited for Lorelai's explosion.

It didn't come.

"Oh," Lorelai said contemplatively. "How much did you get?"

Jess didn't tell me. Rory bit her tongue. She really didn't want to say _that_.

"Didn't work," Rory replied half-heartedly. "I told them a ridiculous, stupid, awful story about how I knew Mitchum, and they didn't buy it, and I think that's why they triggered the alarm. The teller was blabbing what I said all over the news and now I'm Stars Hollows' most famous adulteress."

Lorelai reached out, patting Rory lightly on the shoulder.

"Well," she said. "You are."

"Mom!"

Lorelai coughed, hiding her smile behind her hand, and offering up only a look of innocence to her daughter. Rory pouted. Was _everyone_ going to ride her about the Dean fiasco for the rest of her life?

"Okay," Lorelai said. "So, I'm with you so far. You stroll into a bank, try to rob it – you know, a normal Saturday morning of fun and relaxation – when the silent alarm is triggered, and then you're abducted? How did _that_ happen? And why are you protecting him?"

"I wasn't abducted."

"_What_?" Lorelai yelped, tires screeching as she nearly swerved them off the road.

Rory straightened herself in her seat, repeating more strongly, "I wasn't abducted."

Lorelai's lips thinned into an expression that made her look scarily like Emily. The wheel turned suddenly under her hands, brakes jerking them to a halt so suddenly that Rory was thrown into her seat belt. Lorelai had pulled them over onto the shoulder. She pulled furiously at her seat belt, trying to unbuckle before taking a deep breath, closing her eyes, and reaching out to unclick with a single, steady finger that she then raised to point directly into Rory's face.

"I'm not driving. We're not going to die. So you will explain _everything_ about why you just put me through _hell_ if you didn't really get kidnapped."

Rory stared steadily at her, mouth working its way into a frown at her mother's words. She shrugged one shoulder sullenly.

"Where do you want me to start?" she snarked.

Lorelai's eyes narrowed, hands flying up into the air as she gestured.

"I don't know, how about with it _not being an abduction_? You went willingly? Why? Did you know the guy?"

"Yes," Rory said, raising her eyebrows in what almost felt like amusement as her mother recoiled from the single word. This shouldn't have felt so satisfying. It wasn't her mom she wanted to fight back against – it wasn't her mom she wanted to hurt. But somehow, Rory couldn't stop herself. "Actually, it was Jess."

"_It was Jess_?" Lorelai screeched.

Rory clapped her hands to her ears. The reporters weren't still tailing them, were they? Because there was no way they didn't hear that, even if the windows were up.

"God, it all makes sense now. Jess showing up, _again_, screwing your life up, _again_. Is this his annual ritual now? Wait until the end of the school year to show up on your doorstep and beg you to run away with him? God, and you went along with him! Why would you do that, Rory? You're a smart girl. Why do you _always_ let these boys make you so stupid?"

"Make me stupid?" Rory repeated in shock. She glared back at her mother, crossing her arms as she asked, "When have I ever let a boy make me stupid?"

Lorelai widened her eyes in a show of false innocence as she pretended to think. She raised up her hand, ticking off fingers.

"Well, there was _Jess_, and then there was _Dean_, and then there was _Logan_. And gee, now we're back at Jess again! The circle of life is complete, hallelujah!"

"Why do you always do that?" Rory asked. "You, and Grandma, and even _Taylor_! I never do anything wrong! It's always some boy leading me astray! Why can't they ever be my mistakes?"

"Because you never learn from them!"

Lorelai's words cut into the silence suddenly falling between them, punctuated only by their harsh breathing. Rory shook her head, blinking away sudden tears. She struggled with her seat belt and then her door. She really couldn't be here right now.

"What are you doing?" Lorelai asked, voice calmer but no more forgiving.

"I just really," she kicked at the door angrily, "Don't want to talk anymore."

The door finally gave, and she spilled out onto the hard asphalt of the highway. She winced as gravel ground into the soles of her bare feet. After only a few paces, she stopped, fuming as she wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn't believe Lorelai was being like this. Yeah, it'd been a bad thing to do. She knew that, she was sorry, she didn't ever want to hurt anyone – other than Mitchum, anyway – but why couldn't it be _her_ bad thing?

And she did too learn from her mistakes. How many times had she been in car accidents since Jess? How many times had she committed adultery since Dean? _Zero_. And God, she didn't even know what Lorelai was accusing Logan of! Being rich and charming?

The sound of the Jeep slowly crunching gravel under its wheels pulled Rory from her roiling thoughts.

Lorelai leaned across to the passenger side, waving Rory back to the car. Feet leaden with stubbornness, Rory walked over very slowly.

"What?"

Lorelai sighed, shading her eyes. She pulled back to her side, posture stiffening up again.

"Get in. We'll… talk at home. A lot."

Rory settled herself back into the passenger seat, declining to comment. No, if she had her way, they wouldn't. It was pretty damn clear that there was no way to make Lorelai understand. Telling her _more_ about Rory's plan, the attempted bank robbery, and Jess's success would only make things worse.

Jess's success… Rory's breath caught in her throat, a furrow forming between her eyebrows as she mouthed the words. They didn't know. No one _once_ had asked about the money. It was all abduction this and kidnapping that.

_Why didn't they know_? How was that even possible?

Rory remained in deep, silent thought for the rest of the drive home, turning the questions over in her mind. She just couldn't make the pieces fit together. If he stole the money, why hadn't it been reported missing? If he hadn't stolen, why did he have a gun? And most importantly, why did he leave her behind for the police? Did he trust her that much, or was it simply that there was nothing _to_ trust her with?

She felt like she understood Jess less than ever before.

It was a relief when Lorelai finally pulled the Jeep up to their house. The lawn was remarkably free of both townies and journalistic denizens. Rory shot her mother a confused look.

"Taylor enacted a new ordinance," Lorelai explained. Before Rory could think of a quip, Lorelai slipped out of the car, walking back to the house. Rory watched her go, anger and guilt still churning in her stomach.

Shaking herself, she dug out the evidence bag that had fallen to the floor in front of her seat. She pulled the shoes on, working her toes in as far as she could.

"Ow!" she said, stubbing the toe of her right foot on something lodged inside the shoe. Rory groaned, pulling it off again to fish out the piece of rock or whatever that the police had kindly left in there.

Instead, she pulled out a tightly wadded lump of paper. She tilted her head, hands careful as she unfolded it. A note.

Rory bit her lip, her thumping heart loud in her ears as she scanned over Jess's tight, precise script:

"See you at the wedding."

Damn it. _What the hell did that mean_?


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **I'll Be Bonnie, You Be Clyde**  
Rating:** PG (with options for higher ratings later on)  
**Pairings/Characters:** Rory, Jess, Rory/Logan (implied), Rory/Jess (eventually)  
**Warnings:** none  
**Word count:** 4099  
**Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls belongs to the Palladinos, WB/CW, and Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions.  
**Summary:** What if Gilmore Girls had 100% more bank robbery in it? S5 finale AU

**A/N:** Thank you to finnigan_geist for encouraging (and beta'ing) my completely stupid ideas.

Sorry for the delayed update. Travel always throws my writing schedule out of whack. Hopefully I can get back up to pace again.

* * *

_In which there is a kind of suspicion and a kind of jealousy; Luke is protective; Rory's (not) dead!; and determination in the face of no adversity._

_**See you at the wedding**__._

Rory lay on her bed, turning the note over and over in her hands, peering at the crumpled, soft edges, the creased back, and every micron of the written message, trying to find substance in it. Everything she and Jess had been through together – their break up, his confession of love and mad proposition of running away together, and their strange, exhilarating bank heist – had culminated in nothing.

Well, not nothing. More of the same. Jess abandoning her and running away. Again.

At least this time he'd left a message, cryptic though it was. Okay, Rory told herself, break it down. Maybe you're over thinking it.

The obvious: Jess meant Lorelai and Luke's wedding. Which meant he was planning to see Rory again, in a family context. As a cousin, not as an ex-boyfriend. The note was a final, absolute rejection, putting her in her place after all her years of ambivalence, indecision, and pushing him away. It was also a kind of plea, begging her not to tell about his part in their caper. If she did tell, he'd go to jail, Luke would disown him, and there would be no awkward wedding dances between them at all.

Rory bit her lip, considering, before shaking her head. Jess did _not_ do obvious. Ever.

The less obvious, more snarky: He was referring to her wedding to Logan, taking a shot at her for dating a rich man and implying all she cared about was money. As if that was all Logan had to offer. Where did he get off, insinuating she didn't love Logan?

Jerk, Rory thought, glaring through the note. She took a deep, steadying breath. She didn't know that, although it totally sounded like him.

Not even close to obvious: Jess meant his own wedding and he was inviting her. Ugh.

Rory's breath stuttered in her chest as she processed that possibility. She felt a dark, seeping anger run along her veins, one familiar from all those times she'd had to endure Shane plastered up against Jess. She could barely imagine Jess _married_, but the more she thought about it, the more plausible it sounded in her own head.

She'd kissed him and he hadn't reacted. That had _never_ happened before. Jess had always been strangely monogamous, so maybe that was the reason. He was already committed to someone else, he had no interest in Rory anymore, and he just wanted some money to pad out his honeymoon fund.

"If he thinks I'll be one of her bridesmaids," she said aloud, glowering up at the ceiling, "he's got another thing coming."

Rory rolled over onto her stomach, feeling almost overcome by despondency. She'd been sequestered in her room since getting home, her mother kept banging pots and pans around in the kitchen, and her clue to find Jess seemed to be turning out to be nothing of the sort. This sucked.

There was one cure to that. One she had begun to rely on so much that it was almost by reflex rather than conscious thought that she reached for the house phone she'd swiped earlier. Logan.

"Hey, Ace," Logan answered. Rory smiled at the sound of his laconic, relaxed voice.

"Hey back. How are you?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that?" he replied. He sounded a little surprised. A little… off.

"What, just because I spent all of yesterday on the lam from the law?" Rory joked. It was good to get the truth out there, even just a tiny morsel of it. Logan would ask what she meant, and she'd explain, and they'd both laugh long and hard about how great pulling this over on Mitchum would have been. "Gilmores are made of sterner stuff than that."

"Right."

Rory frowned, hand coming up to cradle the phone as she sat up.

"Logan? Is something wrong?"

"Why don't you tell me?" he bit out, voice suddenly harsh. "Tell me about my father and _you_."

Rory felt her heart sink. He didn't think it was a laugh? It wasn't worthy of the Life and Death Brigade?

"Logan , I –" her voice broke. "Tell me what you want me to say."

"I want you, Rory, to tell me that you haven't been having an affair with him! That you weren't planning on running away to France with my _father_!"

Oh. Rory blinked. Well, that should be easy.

"I haven't been having an affair with your father," she replied honestly, adding, "Ew."

The receiver crackled as Logan exhaled out a heavy gust of relief. She could hear a breathy chuckle over the line.

"I'm happy to hear that, Ace. So you're really okay?"

"Logan, I'm fine. Nothing bad happened. It was –" A thought occurred to Rory, and her voice dropped down to a hushed whisper, one hand coming up to conceal her mouth as she spoke. "Is this a secure line?"

"_Very_," Logan replied, tone serious with just a glimmer of that old roguish amusement underneath it. "I'm wearing my Calvins… the ones you like so much."

What was he…? _Oh_.

"No, Logan! Not now!" she exclaimed in a furious whisper, eyes darting over to the door. She could still hear kitchen things happening. Lorelai must be very angry, to pretend to cook for so long. "I mean, is it secure so I can tell you what really happened at the bank?"

Logan sounded ever the slightest bit put out as he replied, "Yeah, I guess."

"I was trying to rob your dad, and I kind of ran into an old friend – my high school boyfriend, actually – and _he_ had already robbed the bank. I mean, I _think_ he robbed the bank. The news hasn't said anything about the bank being robbed, which is a little weird. Why do you think the teller didn't say anything? He was getting kind of handsy with her – maybe she was just embarrassed that she fell for that? "

Logan was very slow to respond.

"You robbed a bank with your high school boyfriend?" he asked, voice calm in exactly the same way Mitchum's was before he said something terrible. Something in Rory, which normally would have quailed at the sound, solidified with stubbornness.

"Yes."

"Let me get this right," Logan said. The edge in his voice was growing more apparent with every word. "You stole my car. You tried to rob my father. You claimed to be his mistress. And then you ran off with your ex boyfriend to spend a night in a hotel together while I went crazy with worry."

"I thought you'd understand." Rory replied, voice clipped with anger.

"_Why_ would I understand that?"

"You're all about doing crazy stunts and getting arrested and laughing in the face of your jackass father!"

"Hey, I'm trying my best right now to understand, Rory, but don't turn this around on me. He's a jackass, but he _is_ my dad. If you were going to pull this with anyone, it should have been me!"

Rory's brow furrowed as she tried to formulate a response. Logan was jealous. About the spending a night with Jess thing, partially, but mostly about being left out of this really spectacular prank. She didn't know what to say.

"You know what?" Logan started, tiredness creeping into his voice. "Just go. Just rest or whatever. We'll talk about this when you get back to school."

Before she could say goodbye, the call ended, phone abruptly beeping in her ear. She sighed, looking between the phone and the note ruefully. It looked like none of the men in her life wanted her. Maybe it was time to make up with the women – or a woman, anyway. Lane hadn't disowned her, as far as she knew, although the thought made Rory suddenly paranoid and she made a mental note to make Lane pinky swear never to do that.

Stretching, Rory stood from her bed and padded over on her sore feet to the door. The kitchen sounds had quieted in the last few minutes, although they hadn't quite disappeared. There was sizzling, and something that might be boiling. It sounded less like pretending to cook, and more like actually cooking.

Unsettled, Rory eased her door open cautiously.

Luke waved a spatula at her from where he was attending to something on the stove. Rory was confused and a tiny bit afraid. That _worked_?

"Hey, Rory," Luke said. An overly sympathetic, gentle expression stole over his face. "Did you have a good nap? Not that you're five and need a nap, or get cranky… It's perfectly normal for teenagers and other young people to sleep in the day. Or so I'm told."

"I'm good," Rory assured him. "So, uh, where's mom?"

Luke gave a half shrug that looked nearly whole on his big frame. He twitched one side of him mouth up in a kind of grimace.

"She rushed outta here not that long ago. She didn't say much to me, except some incoherent babble you'd probably get about how she couldn't believe her daughter had turned 'Patty Hearst' on her."

"Patty Hearst?" Rory repeated dumbly.

"Or possibly Jennifer Wilbanks. Is that the right reference?"

Gee, kidnapped heiress and Stockholmed bank robberess or bug-eyed runaway bride who faked her disappearance. What a wonderful choice.

"Let's go with Patty," Rory said glumly. At least she pulled the crime off. She sighed, looking out the window over Luke's shoulder to the chuppah just beyond the back door. She wished she knew where her mother had disappeared to. She needed to _do_ something, to get something right.

She rubbed the soft paper of the note between her fingers, and a thought occurred to her. She just needed to find the right way to open the subject up.

"So, Jess didn't take naps?"

Wow, she congratulated herself sarcastically, way to segue.

"Oh, he definitely did. He was a stickler for his naps. Two PM on the dot, out in the living room with a picture book, determined expression, and blankie," Luke said with a little laugh. He shook himself, seemingly concerned that she might have misunderstood what he was saying. He lowered his free hand, indicating a height nearish his knee. "When he was little, that is."

Rory restrained a giggle.

"Right. I never knew… did you spend a lot of time with him when he was a kid?"

Luke shook his head. He seemed to be growing more comfortable with her presence, and for him that meant growing more monosyllabic. He turned back to the stove, poking at the meal.

"Not really," he said, trading out his spatula for a spoon and tasting what looked like marinara. He nodded to himself, turning the heat down to let things simmer, before turning to look at her. "Sometimes Liz would send him down to me when things got too hectic, or I'd go up and help them move, settle into a new place. Never really knew how to make heads or tails of him."

Rory forced a laugh along with him, before tentatively asking, "But he's doing better now? You and he talk?"

Luke gave her a strange look.

"Sometimes."

"So you have his phone number?" she pressed.

Luke frowned. He placed his hands on his hips, eyebrows arched to the fasteners of his hat.

"Rory, what is this about? You and… Jess? You can't possibly want to get back into that. Especially not now!"

"What's wrong with now?" Rory defended. "Now seems pretty ship shape to me."

Luke hung his head, wiping a hand over his face. The expression he came up with on the downward stroke seemed very much to evoke vibes of birds-and-bees talks. Rory edged away.

"Rory," he started gently. "You've just been through a thing. A big, scary thing. How're you gonna know where your head is right now? And Jess… he's been through some things, too. I don't know all of what, since he's still not so chatty, but definite things."

Rory stared at him. It almost sounded like he knew. Not like _knew_ knew. If he knew about Jess and crime, the whole town would know by now. No need for Miss Patty, just open your window and listen. So no, he didn't know per se. But maybe he had an idea? Or a thought? He had the aura of someone close to thinking something, that was for sure.

"Luke, what are you saying?"

"Rory," Luke sighed. "He's finally got his life together. I don't think you messing with his mind is going to do him any good – or you. The last thing the two of you need is _each other_."

Rory was stumped, flabbergasted. Luke thought Jess had his life together – for crime! she thought with a touch of hysteria – and that she would be bad for him. _What_?

"I just … I could really use a friend right now," she said in a small voice. She lifted her eyes hesitantly; inside, she crowed in triumph at Luke's expression. He looked trapped, bewildered, and utterly defeated. "Maybe if I sent him a letter? That's taking it slow, right? We call it snail mail for a reason."

Luke turned away, pulling plates from cupboards and busying his hands as he served up lunch – although she could swear she caught him swiping at his eyes.

"Luke, please," she entreated. "Just his address, not his phone number. All I'm going to do is write."

Luke let out a pained groan, almost forcefully placing the plates onto the table before pulling out his diner order pad. He scribbled hastily onto it and then pressed it into her hands with a furtive look toward the door.

"_Don't_ tell Lorelai."

"You either," Rory said, fixing him with a steady look. "Don't mention Jess to her at all."

"Wasn't planning on it," he said gruffly. He passed a hand over his face, looking upset with himself.

"Lunch?" she asked, bobbing over to the table, light on her feet and feeling almost giddy. Rory tried very hard not to grin. She'd _won_.

"We should wait for–"

She could hear the front door open and close, Lorelai's footsteps clacking against the hard wood. She sounded more upbeat. Well, her feet did.

"Oh, betrothed! Wherefore art you?" she crooned out. Yep, upbeat.

But her smile very nearly fell from her face as she rounded the corner and saw Rory there. She pinned it in place with physical effort. Rory fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Wherefore actually means 'why', but that's a common mistake," Rory offered.

"Thanks, Paris." Lorelai walked over to Luke, stroking a hand casually up his back as she leaned over the table to inhale the scents of the food, "I love having live in help."

"You're welcome," Luke replied drily.

It was not, Rory reflect later, the most awkward meal in the universe. Several of the Friday night dinners had been worse, for instance. Dinner with the Huntzbergers, also, fairly disastrous. However, it _was_ one of the worst meals she'd ever shared with her mother, yummy pasta from Luke notwithstanding.

In the moments where Lorelai was not giving Rory the cold shoulder, she was sneaking goofy smiles at Luke, which he returned. They chatted about Kirk's latest business endeavors, the crisis with Lane's band, and just when those Banyon boys would stop being so ornery. They spoke above Rory's head, past her, giving her the uncomfortable feeling of being left out of her own family. Her feeling of victory fizzled, leaving her slumped in her chair, picking at her meal in disinterest even though it was the first time she'd eaten in about a day.

"Oh, I nearly forgot to mention," Lorelai said, expression flattening as she looked at Rory over her upraised, full fork. "The Dean called."

"_Dean_ called?" Rory asked, shooting upright and knocking her silverware to the ground in horror.

"The Dean," Lorelai clarified. "Of Yale. He wanted to offer an expression of relief that you are safe and well, and tell you that the school is more than willing to reschedule the exam you missed while you were 'kidnapped.'"

Rory blinked rapidly.

"I have to make it up? Getting abducted isn't enough to merit an 'excused'? Wow, tough crowd."

"It is, actually. But I think you should _make it up_," Lorelai said with righteous glint in her eye.

Rory crossed her arms, looking away.

"Fine. Whatever."

"Well, look at the time," Luke said loudly. He stood, clearing away plates despite Lorelai's protest. "Isn't it about time you two started getting ready for the party?"

Lorelai narrowed her eyes at him, expression a good indication that Luke would pay later. Rory looked between them, completely lost.

"Why don't _you_ get ready?" Lorelai asked with false sweetness. "You could test out your formal ball cap ahead of the wedding."

"One, because I'm not going. And two, because I do not, and will not ever, own a formal ball cap."

"You're going to go to the wedding _naked_?"

"Only my head."

"_Dirty_."

Luke made a frustrated gesture, flinging his arm out toward the stairs.

"Will you just…"

"What party?" Rory interrupted.

Luke made an encouraging gesture toward Lorelai; she stuck out her tongue. Eventually, she huffed out a long breath, pouting as unwillingly explained, "The town is hosting a 'welcome back, glad you're not dead' party for you this afternoon in the square."

"Isn't today a Monday?"

Lorelai shrugged a little.

"Taylor may have declared today a local bank holiday," she said dubiously. Which meant he absolutely had, and she now thought that was sort of gross. Rory made a little bit of a face at her mother. If Lorelai was going to be immature about this, then that was exactly what she was going to get back.

Half an hour later, Rory was scrubbed and sparkly fresh, standing in a towel in front of her closet and trying to decide between outfits – well, between her blue chiffon sundress and prying her window open and making a run for it. She smiled slightly, thinking of Jess's initial offer of escaping through her window. She looked down at the address Luke had given her, pursing her lips. Philadelphia… shoe staring they could do, but she'd definitely need more than her feet to get there.

She looked back up, out her window. Directly at Lorelai's Jeep. And a plan began to form.

It dissipated, unfortunately, when Lorelai barreled into her room.

"Mom!" Rory cried out, clutching her towel closer to her body.

"Nothing I haven't seen. Covered in birthing goo, no less," Lorelai sad dismissively. "Get dressed already!"

Another half hour of putting on make-up, curling hair, and dawdling as she tried to think of any possible way of escaping the party passed before Rory and Lorelai were out the door.

"Hey, Mom," Rory said, voice meek and quiet as she walked a few paces back from Lorelai. "My feet still kind of hurt. Is it okay if we drive over?"

Lorelai must have been thawing, because she acceded silently. Rory kinda felt bad about that, but oh well.

They parked just outside the diner, in their usual spot. They were therefore well situated to take in the full breadth of the transformation the town square had undergone. Taylor's ordinance apparently only included residences, because a good half of the square – and the gazebo, Rory noted in shock – had been staked out by the press. She easily sighted CNN, MSNBC, FOX, the networks, E!, and Entertainment Tonight on the hoisted flags. She recoiled slightly in horror. Entertainment Tonight?

But where better for Stars Hollow's most famous adulteress to be featured, she thought miserably.

Across from the media encampment, a range of games and booths had been set up. Rory had the vague suspicion that Taylor kept them in reserve, just in case the opportunity for a town event arose. And dangling high above both the festival and the media base was a large, hastily written banner:

"Rory's dead!"

Between the two words, "not" had been scribbled in a shade of marker that didn't quite match the rest. To offset the otherwise potentially disturbing message, a large smiley had been added at the end.

"That was my idea," Kirk said.

Rory jumped, clutching at her chest. She turned to stare at Kirk, who had appeared silently and with frightening quickness at her open window. Beside her, she could hear Lorelai frantically rolling her own up.

"The smiley," Kirk specified. "I think it adds some cheer."

"Why does it say I'm dead?" Rory asked.

"They say that if the police don't find any leads in forty-eight hours, you can presume death."

"But they found me this morning!"

Kirk looked offended.

"Well, you try getting all your news from the Weather Channel. It's all mother watches, and I only ever get local news on the eights!" He turned on his heel, stalking off, before turning back. "I'm glad you're not dead."

"Wow," Lorelai said.

"Yeah, that was…"

"Kirk," they said together, laughing a little. The kind of strange, relieved, still vaguely frightened laugh that only Kirk could provoke. But it had broken the ice between them.

"You know," Rory said idly, peering out the windshield toward the banner. "Sometimes I think this town is really weird about me."

"Seems pretty average to me," Lorelai returned. A slight smile touched curved he lips.

Lorelai reached over, brushing Rory's hair from her face.

"Just so you know, I'm glad you're not dead too."

Rory swallow back tears.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Lorelai nodded once, and opened her door. Rory followed her from the car. At times, she pulled closer, almost wanting to hold her mother's hand, hide behind her skirt for protection. And if her hand found its way into Lorelai's purse, taking out her keys, well, she _was_ sorry about that. She just really needed to get away.

She needed to find herself.

As penance, she did a few rounds of the festival. She smiled at Miss Patty, chatted with Babbette, and laughed at one of Taylor's "jokes". She managed to dodge much of the press, at least for the sake of interviews, begging off with quick statements about just being happy to be home and feeling ever so tired from her ordeals. The cameras seemed to track her every movement, and she was starting to despair of ever shaking them when she ran into Lane.

"Oh my God!" Lane squealed, jumping and hugging Rory. "You're okay! I was so worried!"

Rory jumped and squealed with her. There weren't really any words of comfort she could offer, especially not with Lorelai's keys digging into the palm of the hand concealing them.

"Yeah," she said weakly. "It's good to be free."

"And not Stockholmed," Lane added seriously. "That's very important."

"No, no. I'm good. No Stockholming at all."

"So was it…?" Lane asked with big, worried eyes.

"I really just… I don't want to talk about it anymore," Rory said. She shrugged apologetically. "You understand, right?"

"Absolutely! I'm Miss Understanding 2005. Wait. I don't think that came out right. I mean, I'm here for you. Or there, if you need time and distance, because I can do that too!"

Rory smiled.

"Thanks, Lane."

It was nice to just walk and talk with her for a while. Well, to walk and let Lane talk. Her worry for Rory quickly faded into her excitement for her upcoming church-tour with the band. Mama Kim of all people had set it up. She felt a minor twinge of jealousy as she listened. Lane was about to live her dream; she was going to go out into the world and become a fabulous rock star – on Seventh Day Adventist circuits, anyway – and Rory was still muddling through. In fact, she was further from her goals than ever. She was a flash in the pan twenty four hours news celebrity, notable for being abducted and having a history of adultery, and more importantly she _still_ wasn't going to be a reporter.

Mitchum Huntzberger thought she wasn't cut out for it, and in all the craziness that had happened, she still hadn't proved him wrong.

"That's really amazing, Lane!" she congratulated distractedly, while her friend took a very brief pause for breath. Rory's gaze was over her shoulder, measuring the distance back to the Jeep. It would be worth it, she decided, just making a run for it.

The cameras didn't matter. This wasn't just about finding herself, or continuing the adventure.

It was about shaking the truth out of Jess. Like a good reporter would.


	5. Chapter 5

**Titl****e: **I'll Be Bonnie, You Be Clyde**  
****Rating:** PG (with options for higher ratings later on)  
**Pairings/Characters:** Rory, Jess, Rory/Logan (implied), Rory/Jess (eventually)  
**Warnings:** none  
**Word count:**  
**Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls belongs to the Palladinos, WB/CW, and Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions. Quotations are drawn from "Let Me Hear Your Balalaikas Ringing Out"; distortions drawn from my sick brain.  
**Summary:** What if Gilmore Girls had 100% more bank robbery in it? S5 finale AU

**A/N:** Thank you to finnigan_geist for encouraging (and beta'ing) my completely stupid ideas.

* * *

_In which Daisy Fields is a terrible name; a break up, of sorts; a devotion to self-flagellation; Philadelphia!; and Jess trolls Rory._

There were a few glaring problems with stealing her mother's car on live TV – Rory could admit that. The first was that she was bad at running, and worse at running in heels, and had managed to break the stem off of one shoe completely while twisting her ankle. The second was that it didn't end at mere television. Radio was equally in on the act, which Rory realized with great mortification when she turned the car stereo on to block out her ever more frantic thoughts.

The third problem, however, was the biggest. By stealing Lorelai's car and driving it to Philadelphia, she was leading the police directly to Jess.

"Well, crap," she said aloud. She eyed the exit signs out the window and made a snap decision.

She'd probably need a few amenities from her dorm room anyway.

"And it looks like she's turning back onto the exit to New Haven," announced the radio presenter whose name she hadn't quite caught. Probably something like Daisy Fields, or Gale Weathers. She had just that kind of personality. "Could it be she's returning to the scene of the crime?"

Rory gritted her teeth, signaling in a turn as she made her way to Yale. It had occurred to her, actually. She still had a lot of questions, and also a bank teller she wanted to throttle. The problem with trying to follow the money and find out just why the cash Jess had stolen had not been reported was, well, that would probably get reported, too. And then Jess's clean crime would be substantially less so and Rory's story would get scooped.

Much better to go to the source.

"Oh, she's turning in to the Yale campus," the presenter said, disappointment tingeing her voice. Rory reached out, turning the radio off with a satisfying click. The coverage had really lost momentum after Emily called in, anyway. Nothing could match that.

She slowed as she pulled into the parking area closest to her dorm. That phone call from Emily was something she would definitely have to write a thank you note for. While Lorelai, in the interviews, had been brusque and largely uninformative – although she did protest that she didn't think Rory was _stealing_ stealing – Emily had rattled the reporters to the bone with her mixture of threats, emotional manipulation, and unvarnished criticism of their private lives. As a result, the news vans pursued only at a great distance, pending advice from their lawyers. Rory wasn't particularly worried about them following her from Yale, but she thought it might be good to be as boring as possible for a few hours.

Rory idled briefly in the parking lot, steeling herself for any attention she might get from other students while walking to her dorm, before pulling her door open. And meeting a surprising sight.

"Logan!" she called out. He was leaning against the dorm building, hands shoved into his pockets. He looked up in surprise; a relieved smile broke over her face. He'd been a bit abrupt with her earlier on the phone, but she was sure he'd been following the coverage of the party and her escape. He'd have to have more sympathy for her now.

Limping slightly from the ankle she turned running to the Jeep earlier, Rory lifted up an arm to wave and starting to walk toward him – only to slow to a puzzled stop as he turned away. He was leaving.

"Logan!" she shouted again, equal parts horror and shock coloring her voice. "Where are you _going_?"

The line of his back snapped straight, and he threw a nonchalant look over his shoulder at her. The corner of his mouth lifted.

"To the bank," he said. "Bye, Ace."

Rory's breath shuddered from her. Bye, Ace? she thought. No, seriously._ Bye, Ace?_ He came all the way over to her dorm, waited for her, and then broke up with her _like that_?

God, if she were uninjured and even marginally athletic, she would be running after him right now to yell at him. Everything they'd been through together, and he broke up with her! _Unbelievable_.

Rory leaned back against the Jeep, struggling with her broken shoe. Angrily, she threw it at Logan's retreating back. It fell two sad, feeble feet from her. She glared down at it, shaking with anger as tears stung her eyes. She choked back a scream, wrapping her arms around herself as she obstinately stared at the ground. She wasn't going to watch him walk away like a stupid little girl.

She turned, walking in a slow, uneven gait toward her dormitory. If they were broken up, then fine. Less for her to explain.

Inside her dorm, she set about packing with determination, ignoring the steady drip of tears down her face. First, two changes of clothes. She didn't intend to be gone long, and nothing else would fit into her bag without arousing suspicion from possible watchers. Two pairs of shoes also – one to wear, and another just in case she needed something to throw. She had the distinct feeling Jess might arouse that particular desire in her. Next, two of her journalism textbooks. Jess wasn't wordy at the best of times. When describing crime, less so, and she'd definitely need some guidance in cracking him. Make up, music for the ride, mini-recorder, and her phone rounded out her supplies.

The last she stared at, thumb tracing over the screen. She'd left it deliberately before her attempted heist – she'd seen too many TV shows where they traced a culprit's phone GPS. But now it was half the reason she'd come back to Yale. Not to take with her. Again, the GPS issue. No, she'd come back because she needed to know what they'd said to her. In the time that she'd been missing, she knew Lorelai, Logan, and probably even Grandma and Grandpa would have tried to call her again and again, leaving messages of concern that must have escalated into frantic terror.

And now, it was time to listen to them.

Taking a deep breath, Rory thumbed the phone on, punching in her voice mail password and flopping backward to listen. Never let it be said that she didn't know how to punish herself.

"Hey, babe," Lorelai's voice crackled in her ear. Even through the tiny speaker of her cell, Rory could tell she was trying to cover worry with laughter, voice just a little strained. "The news says you've been kidnapped. Hate to say it, but I think Paula Zahn might be slipping. Call me, and tell me to laugh at all the crazy she's being."

Next was Emily – much, much louder. Rory pulled the phone back at the shock, nearly dropping it. She worked her jaw up and down, trying to pop her ear to make it hurt less as she listened.

"Lorelai Leigh Gilmore! This is no way for a young lady to behave. Being kidnapped – by a _hooligan_. And at a bank, no less! Why, in my day…" Rory was sure there was concern in there, somewhere, but she didn't really want to listen to the appropriate way society ladies were kidnapped, so she swiftly keyed over to the next message.

"You took my car?" Logan started, tone more questioning than outraged. Like maybe he was hung over enough to wonder if he'd given it to her. "Please call me when you get this, Ace. Tell me you're okay. And don't let him scratch the paint."

The messages devolved from there – fewer attempts at witticisms, less trying to pretend it wasn't true, and much more begging. Rory listened to it all, a catch in her throat and a hard lump of guilt in her stomach. She'd done this to them. And she was planning on doing it again.

To be fair, she admitted, there was much more thorough news coverage this time. She hardly believed her mother thought she was in any danger. She'd seemed more angry than worried in the brief interview the radio reporter had wrangled from her before Luke threatened bodily removal if the reporter didn't get off the lawn.

Sniffling, Rory listened to the pre-recorded mobile service voice tell her she had one message left. It felt like she'd run the entire gamut, up to and including Babette, Kirk, Morey, and Gypsy. She wasn't quite sure who was left, or how many more ways there were to say "please come home."

But, of course, Paris found a new approach:

"Gilmore, you _seriously_ just robbed a bank? With your high school flunk out boyfriend, of all people? _Have you lost your mind_?" Paris shrilled. "Also, I've seen better high speed chases on Discovery Channel. Ferns drive faster than you. Man up and do it, if you're going to.

"Call me if you think of an alibi. But _don't_ involve me. Some of us still have careers to think of, you know."

Rory shook her head, bemused. Trust Paris to figure it out. She pressed speed dial, but was only moderately disappointed to hear it go to voice mail.

"Hey, Paris. You've already seen the story by now. Thanks for keeping me out of trouble," Rory said, biting the inside of her cheek. She hoped that was vague enough. She could be in trouble right now, right? For running off? It didn't allude to crime, necessarily…. "Tell my mom I'm okay. I'm going away for a couple of days – to save my career, which by the way, I _do_ have. As for the rest, I'll just have to try to live up to your high standards, if it comes to that."

She powered her phone off and dropped it on the bed. She just had one more stop, and then she'd be on her way.

Rory was extremely cautious walking the streets of New Haven. It was early evening, the street lamps just beginning to come on. She kept her eyes downcast, in part to hide her features in shadow, but mostly because she knew her paranoia would get the better of her if she looked into the faces of the people she walked past. Recognition was her enemy. She needed to blend in, unnoticed, if she, say, needed to beat a hasty retreat for completely failing to steal a car.

Two in one day, Rory suddenly realized, almost giddily. She really was turning into a regular felon.

She sidled cautiously down the main street, right across from the bank, peeking up cautiously from time to time. Under the bright pool of light beneath a street light, she lifted her eyes and squinted, shoulders slumped in trepidation as she scanned all the nearby cars.

Yep. It was still there.

A smile broke out across Rory's face, although she cautioned herself not to get too hopeful.

"Come on, come on," she said under her breath, heart loud in her ears and she walked quickly to Jess's old, broken down car. She clenched her jaw, eyes darting around nervously, before going to the driver's side and pulling on the door.

"_Yes_", she hissed as it gave. He'd left it open and…. _Awesome_! He'd left the keys in the ignition too. Perfect for a get-away vehicle that no one had quite gotten away in.

Looks like Grandma really ought to sue the New Haven police, she thought absently. Really shoddy of them to miss this.

Jess's car – and Rory – lumbered into Philly quite after hours. A city never slept, but Rory herself was feeling more than a bit dozy by the time she made it past the highway interchanges and beyond city limits. She'd had a pretty rough day, all things considered, starting out in a drift of fugitive dreams, getting _caught_ by the police, fighting with her mom, and run through the media wringer before she'd even had the chance to breathe or come to grips with what she was doing.

Of course, Rory considered as she pressed one palm against a tired eye, trying to focus again on the Philadelphia streets, if she'd had time, she probably wouldn't be here at all. She'd be Old Rory, chewing on her pen cap as she made a pro-con list, whittling away at her self esteem as she enumerated her own flaws, trying to figure out exactly why Mitchum wouldn't hire her.

But that was Old Rory, and New Rory had at least one check mark in her pro column: _proactive_. She was a go-getter, a self-starter, a real independent minded young woman with a mission all her own and she intended to complete it, exhaustion or no.

Idling at a red light, Rory rifled through her bag, searching out the hastily scribbled directions she'd written down after talking to Luke, and comparing them against the city map she bought at a pit stop. _Locust Street_. She squinted at the map. That was… somewhere. A place. Maybe nearby?

Honking from behind her startled Rory into grouchy action. She grumbled, driving down the street another half a block before she found a place to pull over so that she could try to figure out where the actual hell she was, and where the actual hell _Jess_ was.

It took a while.

Rory sighed with relief when she finally made that fateful turn, the green street sign she caught out of the corner of her eye confirming she was finally in the right place. The old fashioned, wooden sign hanging down over the steps of a brownstone confirmed it further: _Truncheon Books_. Sort of a funny place of a bank robber to hang out, but an absolute Jess place to stay, so it worked out on the balance.

She put the car into park right in front of the publishing house. In fact, it seemed like she pulled into a spot precisely the correct size and shape, left suspiciously empty. She gathered her bag and her courage, because she saw a figure leaning against the stone banister of the stairs when she drove up, that same unmistakable figure she took on a high speed chase yesterday and followed across three states today. He was smoking, face turned half away from her in contemplation, his posture so casual in the dark that it made her heart ache with remembrance. _That_ boy was cosmically distant, but for a moment he felt like her was right here in front of her, and maybe she had the chance of being that girl again.

Except, no. She really didn't want to be that girl again.

Rory stepped from the car, hand wound securely around her bag. The weight of the books was comforting.

"Hello, Jess," Rory said as smoothly as she could.

Jess dropped his cigarette in shock. It glowed at his feet, unexistinguished. Rory twitched a little inside, wanting to step on it, or for him to, or for a mugger to do it.

"Oh God damn it," Jess muttered. Rory frowned at him. That wasn't very hospitable. "Tell me you weren't followed."

"I _wasn't_," Rory retorted. She lifted her chin, giving him an arch look, the kind that said, "I know what I'm doing, _thank you_."

"Huh," Jess said in that high, lofty voice of his. "Good to know."

Jess looked over her shoulder, tilting his head just a fraction as he took in her vehicle of choice.

"Is that my car?"

"Yes." There was just the slightest smile on his face; Rory took that as a positive sign that she should press the advantage. "I brought it back for you. I think you owe me an explanation in return."

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jess gave her a long, considering look. He looked again at his car, and then sighed. He really loved that stupid, ugly, broke down hoopty.

"Yeah. Alright," Jess said with a shrug. He dug around in his pocket, extracting an empty pack of cigarettes. He crumpled it with a disappointed twist of his lips before looking up at her again. "But you owe me a cigarette."

She could absolutely do that. Possibly. Actually, thinking on it, the mere idea of buying cigarettes at a store and facing down the judgmental eyes of the clerk as he checked her ID made her break out in a cold sweat. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

Jess waved her to walk along with him, and they went inside together. Luke had been pretty vague about where Jess was living – _Philly_, _publishing house_, and _cramped_ were all she'd been able to get out of him. The first two were unquestionably correct, but the third distinctly _not_.

The inside of Truncheon Books was, surprisingly, quite nice. It was spacious, if cluttered. Beyond the entranceway, the main floor was lowered a step. Along the far wall, it was higher again. It gave Rory the impression that it would be a great place to host shows. There was still work to be done, clearly, with half assembled furniture shoved off to one side and piles, and piles of books lining every wall. There were desks in the center, clean but for computers, and art installations that weren't quite installed yet, but the entire place was potential, beautiful and pure.

"Oh," Rory said, eyes widening as she took everything in. The room reminded her stirringly of all the news rooms she'd been in – at Yale, for Mitchum, even at Chilton. There was a strange, special smell in the air. Books, or dust, or maybe even red ink that made her think instantly that the people here loved the written word.

And in the middle of that, Jess stood, cocky expression on his face and ratty old leather jacket on his shoulders. Rory wondered where his gun was. How _that_ fit into _this_.

"Luke said you were doing well," Rory said lamely.

"You could say that," Jess replied. He wasn't even looking at her. It was annoying. Instead, he was digging through the neat stack of papers on the desk nearest to him. _His_ desk? she wondered. After another moment, he pulled out a large sheaf of paper, bound together with brass brads. He thrust it toward her. "Here. Take a look. You said I owed you an explanation, and this is it."

Hesitantly, Rory took the papers from him. No, not the papers, the _manuscript_, she realized. Her eyes widened.

"You wrote a _book_?" she whispered. He wrote a book! This was amazing, it was _phenomenal_, it was everything she had always believed that Jess could do!

It was also off-putting. Just as with Lane, Rory could feel a sudden, bright flare of jealousy spark within her. Where was _her_ dream job? The thought rankled. Rory pushed away the affectionate pride she felt swelling in her chest, fixing Jess with a penetrating glare.

She _was_ going to get to the bottom of this story.

"What does that have to do with bank robbing?"

If Rory expected Jess to hush her in worry – hadn't Luke said something about roommates? – she was disappointed. He did look shifty, wincing at the question itself.

"It's… complicated. That book," He reached out to touch the front page, and then recoiled. Jess continued softly, "it cost me a lot."

"Of money?" she asked. That would explain it… but he shook his head, turning away.

"Not money. I did a lot of things, Rory, a lot of things I'm ashamed of. I had to get in deep with a lot of unpleasant people." Rory watched the muscles work in his jaw, seeing that hard clench of repression and wondering just how _bad_ it was. For the sake of the article, of course. "They needed me to do some things for them. I guess it was just fair trade."

"You rob banks so they'll tell you their story?" Rory asked, a burst of horrified intuition letting her jump ahead. Jess nodded jerkily.

"Oh, _Jess_."

She understood. Of course she understood. If there was anything she understood, it was the drive to see her name in print, to take a narrow slice of the wide world and craft from it a story that would sell. And there was no way she could even pretend at this point that she wouldn't do _anything_ to make it happen.

Rory sidled up beside Jess, laying a hand on his cheek with every intention of turning his face toward hers. Until, that was, she felt the smirk under her palm.

"Jess!" she protested. "Stop _doing that_!"

"I will when you stop falling for it," he chuckled. He dragged a chair closer to him, flipped it around and sat down, arms across the backrest, sharp chin resting on his arms. "So what was it you wanted? Because if it's a cut, no."

Rory crossed her arms, glaring at him. She didn't want a cut of the money. That didn't mean she wasn't entitled to one.

She would, however, take her payment in trade.

"I told you. I want an explanation."

Jess narrowed his eyes at her.

"No, you don't. You want an _interview_. And you're not getting one. How stupid do you think I am, Rory?"

Rory glowered at him. One hand had worked into her pocket, surreptitiously pulling out a small recorder, tucked deep back into her jacket. Not as stupid as she hoped, unfortunately.

"Come _on_, Jess," she pouted, kicking her feet out at him from where she sat on the corner of his desk. "How did you do it? Why doesn't anyone know the money is gone? _Why_ did you do it?"

Jess lifted a hand, ticking off points on his fingers.

"Not telling you, not telling you, and… eh. It's a hobby."

Rory blinked at him.

"Seriously."

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Well. To be fair, it fit a pattern of behavior. Bridge money, lawn gnomes, baseballs, and now thousands of dollars from banks. It was just inevitable, Rory figured.

"What do you know," Rory said, stretching her arms out behind her. She wheeled them in front of her face, covering a yawn. "My mom was right about you."

"I'm a bad sort," Jess deadpanned.

She shook her head, but she couldn't help it. Maybe being so tired had worn down her defenses.

Rory smiled at him. And this time, he smiled back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: **I'll Be Bonnie, You Be Clyde**  
Rating:** PG (with options for higher ratings later on)  
**Pairings/Characters:** Rory, Jess, Rory/Logan (implied), Rory/Jess (eventually)  
**Warnings:** none  
**Word count:** 4362  
**Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls belongs to the Palladinos, WB/CW, and Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions.  
**Summary:** What if Gilmore Girls had 100% more bank robbery in it? S5 finale AU

**A/N:** Thank you to finnigan_geist for encouraging (and beta'ing) my completely stupid ideas.

* * *

_In which there is no chivalry; bed head; coworkers; embarrassment for Rory; Isn't that confusing?; and there is a job offer._

The conversation between Rory and Jess took no more meaningful bends. It was late, and she suspected they'd had equally long days – although his without the media circus – and yawns kept breaking across both of their faces. Time to feel out the accommodations situation.

Before she could quite verbalize her sluggish thoughts, Jess was waving her silent.

"You'll stay here. I don't want you wandering around Philly in the middle of the night," he said. It wasn't really clear if he meant that for her protection, or his own from the police, but it hardly mattered. He snagged a hand around the loose loop of her bag's strap, pulling it from the desk that she had learned was not, in fact, his. It belonged to someone named Chris who was a frustratingly slow editor, although a thorough one.

Jess walked away from her, casting a look over his shoulder from the staircase. Rory belatedly realized he meant her to follow. Mentally she whined at the effort of movement. Why couldn't he just carry her? She limped over to his side, suddenly remembering that she had actually twisted her ankle earlier, and really was not in fit condition for serious exertion like walking or _stairs_. She milked the injured look for all it was worth until Jess sighed, extending a hand to her to help her up the stairs.

"Don't expect any more chivalry," he mumbled into her hair.

Rory couldn't pretend she knew what that meant precisely, but it sent a pulse of racing excitement through her. She'd always liked Jess when he wasn't being chivalrous. It looked good on him. That thought immediately ran into the feeling of Jess's strong, leather clad arm around her waist and the memory of Jess's gun in his hand. _Oh_, she thought, feeling lightheaded. She really hoped he wasn't going to be chivalrous _at all_.

Busy wondering how long Jess could go not being chivalrous, whether this would count as rebound sex, and just how guilty Rory should feel about all of that – she kept a chart in her dorm room, but it wasn't really accessible right now, so she'd have to estimate – she didn't realize they were all the way up the stairs already. She lifted her foot for another step, and then stumbled when it failed to exist.

Jess caught her. His hazel eyes went wide with concern, wild black hair everywhere but where it should be, a frown touching his lips.

"Careful, there," he said. He hauled her up and then reached out, hitting a light switch to illuminate a small, extremely cluttered living room.

"My boyfriend broke up with me," Rory blurted suddenly, very aware of how closely he held her.

Jess jerked away, as if slapped. He glared at her, and for a moment, Rory wilted. But… the moment! There had definitely been a moment going on there! Had she somehow misread it? She thought he would be _happy_ Logan was out of the picture.

"Gee, what a shock," Jess said. Rory stiffened.

"_Excuse me_?"

Jess just rolled his eyes, walking away from her. The living room split off into a suite of several rooms, cubby of a kitchen off to one side, the other rooms left indescribable by closed doors. It looked like Truncheon had rented out two entire floors. Not bad living, she admitted. Just _messy_, she thought, kicking a discarded pizza box away from her.

"Living room," Jess said unnecessarily. He hitched a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to a door that was directly over the entrance hall of the building. "Roommate number one." He pointed directly behind her and then to her left. "Roommate number two. Bathroom." Jess opened the door behind himself, tossing Rory's bag in. She opened her mouth to protest and he gave her a look. "You. For tonight."

"Jess," she said awkwardly. She was torn between being really pissed off at him, and actually fairly grateful. She was tired and really not ready for an argument, though, so she settled on the latter. "Thank you, but I _really_ can't put you out on the couch."

"Rory, I _said_ I'm not being chivalrous." Rory shook her head slightly, not getting it. Jess opened the door wider, turning on the light to illuminate a plain, completely uninhabited room. It didn't look like anyone lived there – past or present – and certainly not Jess. He gestured for her to go through, and she did, cautiously. Leaning against the doorframe, Jess explained, "Guest room."

"But where do you…?" Rory started to ask, but Jess dodged back from her, shutting the door quickly in her face. She glared at it. "Goodnight to you, too!"

With a sigh, she rolled her shoulders, looking over the spare furnishings of her room. Bed. Nightstand. Empty bookshelf. She eyed the last warily, feeling as if it were somehow a statement from Jess about her and their relationship.

"The better to build on," she grumbled into the room. Yeah. Sure. That was likely.

With a last, watery glower at the bookshelf, she hit the lights and stumbled her way over to the bed. Shucking her shoes, Rory all but collapsed backward on top of the sheets. She blinked up into the darkness, feeling her eyes adjust. She could make out the faint outline of an old fashioned light fixture in the dark. This place really was nice. Jess was doing so well for himself.

She turned onto her side, facing the door. She felt so stupid, so lonely. It didn't make any sense. She was proactive, take charge Rory now. Why did it keep blowing up in her face?

"I stole a car today," Rory whispered to herself, trying on the fit of the crime. It was true, but it didn't sting. It _thrilled_ her.

"I ran away from home."

Not a thrill, really, but not a danger either. Home was still there. Mom was still there – angry, but there.

"Logan broke up with me."

There. _That one_. The words made her stomach clench into a painful ball, her breath come short. He didn't want her anymore.

Her mind was too tired to dwell, and it was on that unhappy, uncomfortable thought that Rory fell asleep. Happily, she did not dream.

Rory was well into her morning ablutions the next day before she saw Jess again. The roommates had offered her half-hearted, bemused, and uncaffienated greetings that she supposed were par for any girl found in the apartment in the AM, particular one who looked like she'd slept in her clothes. They were too concerned with getting in gear for work to hassle her, and she retreated into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Without a knock, the door swung open suddenly behind her, leaving Rory to gape a fluoride filled mouth at Jess and his remarkable bed head.

"Oh," Jess said, dropping his hand from where he had been rubbing at his sleepy eyes. There was a red crease on his face from sleep, and his basic white t-shirt was rumpled. His pajama pants hung low on his hips. Really low. Like … wow. Rory's eyes went a little wide as she looked at him. "You're still here."

Rory's indignant sound – why _wouldn't_ she be? – was turned into a gurgle by the foam in her mouth. Turning away quickly, she bent over the sink to spit and rinse her mouth. When she turned back, toothbrush brandished pointedly, Jess was gone. She twisted about, eyeing the window and fire escape behind her, and then the ceiling. She didn't_think_ he could have snuck past her, and she was pretty sure that she'd hear his feet clanging down the rusty old fire escape but, well, you never knew. Jess was crafty.

But not that crafty. He cleared his throat loudly, drawing her attention back to the living room. She peeked past the bathroom door, movements slowed equally by her sleep muddled mind and her embarrassment.

Jess was sitting on the lumpy looking couch centered equidistant from the bedrooms, looking tense even though he was still in his pajamas. And she was in her clothes from the day before. Rory's fingers fiddled with her hair, pulling on it as she self-consciously realized what they looked like together. A morning after.

"I, uh, I guess we should talk," Rory said, averting her eyes from Jess's face. His eyes were soft and sleepy, his jaw darkly stubbled. He hadn't shaved yet. She'd thrown off his routine. Rory felt her stomach drop at the thought. It was so _domestic_, so personal.

"About?"

Rory resisted the urge to kick him. Oh, wait. No. She didn't.

"Ow! Fine. We'll talk."

Jess glared at her, snidely opening both hands to offer her a seat next him now that she'd walked to the couch.

"Fine," Rory said. She sat and instantly took to fidgeting. She smoothed her hands down her thighs, the same way she had always smoothed out her uniform skirt when she was in high school. Jess shifted on the couch, watching her, and Rory suppressed a shiver at the attention. She could remember sitting on Luke's couch, awkwardly toying with the hem of her skirt while Jess gave her that _look_. Her fingers stilled as she peeked up, half hopeful that she would see it now.

Jess crossed his arms, looking irritated.

"Well?"

Fine, whatever. She was wearing pants, anyway.

"If I'm going to be staying here –"

"Whoa, _what_? If you're going to be staying _where_?" Jess flailed, almost falling off the couch.

Rory gave him a prim look.

"If I going to be staying here," she began again, knowing full well he would cut her off.

"You are _not_ going to stay here. Why would you even want to? Oh right," he said airily, as if just remembering. He gave her a nasty look. "Your boyfriend broke up with you. Newsflash, Rory, I'm _not_ your back up."

"Think highly of yourself, don't you?" she returned, ignoring the dig. Which did _not_ hurt. It didn't. Thinking about Logan didn't hurt, and it wasn't like she'd been thinking about Jess romantically lately, not at all, and she _didn't_ treat boys like that. She would never use anyone like that! "I'm not leaving until I get my story, and since you don't want to talk, I guess you should get used to having me around."

"You don't leave, and I'll call the cops. _Again_."

Rory squared her shoulders, knowing she had won. Calling in an anonymous tip after confirming they didn't know what Jess looked like was one thing. Calling the police to haul the infamous Rory Gilmore from his apartment after she very publically ran away on national television – well, that was something else entirely.

"You do that."

Jess let out a frustrated sound, eyes flicking beseechingly up to the ceiling for a moment. He worked his jaw, anger plain on his face as he balled his hand into a fist underneath his chin. He raised his eyebrows at her, frustrated smile on his lips.

"_Whatever_. What was it you wanted to talk about, since you're staying here?" Jess gritted out.

Rory shrugged one shoulder.

"You're out of toilet paper," she said sweetly. "If I'm going to stay here, I think you'll need to get more."

A sharp _crack_ sounded through the room; Jess had clenched his hand so tightly that his knuckles popped. Huh. He kind of looks like Luke when he's this angry, Rory thought, before scrunching her nose. Oh, ew. He looks like _Luke_ when he's this angry.

"Anyway," she said briskly. She stood, edging back toward the guest room. "I'm going to get dressed. You should probably do the same if you're going to give me the tour. About time I met your roommates, isn't it?"

Jess's glower spoke for itself. Giving him one last, perky smile, Rory left to change.

Fresh in a skirt and hardly at all wrinkled blouse, Rory packed up her clothes from the day before, fingers shifting her other change of clothes to the top of her bag ruefully. She'd counted on this being a an evening jaunt – two days _tops_ – to get the story before returning triumphantly to her old life. There was still the off chance that Jess would find her presence so annoying he suddenly rediscovered his chatty gene, but, well, in the meantime, she kind of thought she needed to look into her options for acquiring clothes. Pajamas, at the very least.

"We burn that bridge when we come to it," Rory told herself firmly.

Jess was waiting for her when she opened the guest room door, changed into a Metallica shirt that made her almost sick with unwanted memories. He hadn't bothered shaving, and it was that detail alone that saved her from wondering if she'd imagined the last two years.

"Shall we?" she asked. Her voice sounded rough to her own ears. Raw.

Jess nodded sharply, face turned away from her. She could almost imagine he was affected the same way she was. How odd.

Shaking it off, Jess angled a sarcastic look Rory's direction.

"Let's shall," he said dryly, gesturing for her to go ahead of him.

With Jess at her back, it was easier to concentrate on her goals, to formulate questions. It was also easier to take in Truncheon for what it was. The design of the brownstone was warm and rich; she had the feeling that if she poked around she'd easily find remnants of its past, maybe narrow back stairs for servants or a dumbwaiter.

"So, how did you get involved with all of this?" Rory asked over her shoulder as they walked down the stairs.

She stopped half-way down – in part waiting for his answer, but largely just to watch his roommates work. One, a pasty fellow of a nervous disposition and with a clear investment in sweater vests, was hunched over the desk she sat at the night before, scribbling furiously at a manuscript. Jess's, Rory recognized with a thrill. The other roommate, who was taller and darker and seemed far more cool, sat at his own desk, manuscript forgotten as he aimed a paper basketball at a trash bin. There was another man she didn't recognize at a desk, pen wiggling back and forth in his teeth as he read, and a woman as well, typing at her computer.

"All of what?" Jess said. Rory rolled her eyes at him. Okay, workaholics they were not, but that really wasn't the point. Eventually, with a defeated sigh, he answered her, "Did a morning stint as a barista a while back. Chris there is a man after your own heart – double espressos every day, twice a day minimum. We talked a couple of times. He mentioned being down an editor, so here I am."

"And he just hired you?" Rory asked. "Mr. Personable Barista?"

"Aw, jeez. You're not going to let that go, are you?" Rory shook her head, filing away the delicious image of Jess, coffee-slave, for future amusement. "I had a red pen. That's it."

"Right," Rory said, nodding sagely. "Those are hard to come by. But what about your book? Let me guess. You had one, so they just _happened_ to decide to publish it?"

"Pretty much."

Jess brushed past her, making his way all down the stairs. Rory made a face at his back and followed. She _would_ crack him. Eventually.

"Everyone," Jess called out. The assembled editors turned to look. "This is Rory. Rory, everyone."

The cool guy offered her a half wave, and the other two gave her nods before returning to her work. The nervous guy frowned at her, mouth working and eyes squinting as if he was trying to place her face. Rory tucked her hair behind her ear, hoping that it wasn't what she thought it was. Maybe Jess talked about her a lot, or obsessively kept photos of her! Maybe this guy _hadn't_ watch CNN – or any other major TV station – any time in the past forty eight hours. Maybe!

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" he asked. The other editors perked up, raking her over with considering looks.

Rory walked down a step, incidentally _right_ on top of Jess's foot.

"Save me!" she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

"_Why_?" he drawled back, amusement clear in his tone. She ground her foot down harder and was satisfied to a sharp, pained intake of breath from him.

"Right, names! What was I thinking? I'm so rude," he said, stepping away from her quickly. "The guy rocking the Carlton Banks look while editing me is Matthew. He's the founder of Truncheon."

"Meaning the money," added the cool editor. Jess nodded. Rory tried to catch his eye – _money_? – but he adroitly dodged her.

Matthew stopped eyeballing Rory for a moment, schooling his face into a more welcoming expression as he waved his pen at her. His gaze slid from Rory to Jess.

"This is the final draft, right? Actually final, not like the last five were final?"

Jess gave an indifferent shrug.

"Depends on what that pen of yours is doing." Matthew looked down, eyes going sorrowful as he looked between the pen in his hand and the wealth of red on the manuscript. He pouted a bit. Jess rolled his eyes and moved on, pointing to the rest of the Truncheon editors in turn, "Chris handles our 'zine and interviewing artists. Andy scouts for new writers. And Jessica is our go-to for distribution."

Rory looked at the other woman, eyes raking over her appearance. She was pretty – in a blond bombshell, pouty lipped model sort of way. If you were _into_ that, she thought with distaste. She could feel her expression hardening.

Jessica reminded her, unpleasantly, viscerally, of _Shane_ and Rory was overwhelmed by a sudden flash of insight. She knew what Jess's note had been about.

"You're marrying _her_?" Rory exclaimed in an undignified screech.

The room filled with heavy silence, like an airplane pressurizing. Rory could swear she felt her ears pop in the leaden, thick air as the Truncheon editors shifted awkwardly, giving each other confused looks.

"I…" Jessica began. "_What_?"

Rory turned to poke an accusing finger into Jess's chest. He removed his hand from where he had struck his forehead, batting her away.

" 'See you at the wedding'? Gee, could you twist the knife a little deeper? And I can't believe you would marry a woman named Jessica. Jess and Jess – isn't that the kind of twee you left Stars Hollow to escape?"

"No, Rory," Jess said with an emphatic glare. He seized her ungently by the shoulders, tensing and untensing his fingers in a way that spoke to how very much he wanted to shake her. "I left Stars Hollow because Saint Luke _kicked me out_! And what the hell are you talking about?"

"Your _note_!" Rory snapped. She really was sick of Jess messing with her. "Inviting me to your stupid wedding to that tramp!"

Jess exhaled slowly – the scary kind of slow that said he was barely reining in his anger. His eyelids fluttered shut and he counted beneath his breath. Dimly, Rory was aware of Chris and Matt edging away from them both in their chairs. Jessica had found a letter opener and was carefully sliding it up her sleeve. Rory frowned at that. She didn't come off _that_ crazy, did she?

"Yeah, so she's…" Chris said, widening his eyes.

"… yeah," Matt agreed.

"Rory," Jess ground out, snapping her attention back to him. "That note was about Luke and Lorelai's wedding. Not. Mine. Because I'm not getting married."

"Oh," Rory said dumbly. Color flushed into her cheeks, and Rory turned stiffly to scan the reactions of everyone in the room, mortification deadening her movement. She met Jessica's wary gaze. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."

Jessica gave her a long look before shrugging.

"Eh. It happens."

She did not give up the letter opener, though, Rory noticed.

"Um. But, uh, doesn't that get confusing?" Rory asked, desperately trying to make light of her _massive_ overreaction. "Jess and … Jessica?"

The two shared a look from across the room.

"No," they decided.

"So, um, you all edit," Rory said. She gave a look to Jess, the urge to punish him for her faux pas quite strong. "What's your specialty, Jess? Acquisitions? _Finance_?"

Chris's face broke out in a large, sly grin and he opened his mouth to speak. Jess shot him an annoyed look, and Chris shrugged, stretching out his arms and faking a yawn as if that had been his intent all along. Rory watched the interplay with narrowed eyes. There was something going on here. She just couldn't put her finger on it.

"I write," Jess said shortly. Jess continued. He seized Rory's arm. "And we all put in some time on the press, downstairs. Why don't I show you?"

"Sure," Rory started, only to stumble slightly as Jess tugged her along. "Ow, Jess!"

He didn't relent, and Rory could just make out the murmurs of conversation behind them both as he dragged her toward the basement.

"I know I've seen her somewhere!" Matthew said.

"Isn't that _the_ girl…" Chris seemed to be saying right as Jess closed the door behind them. Rory frowned, and turned in Jess's grasp, straining to hear what Chris was saying, but his voice was too muffled.

Rory shook Jess off, glaring up at him on the shadowed basement landing. Jess ignored her, walking down the stairs to the imposing offset printing press centered beneath dangling fluorescent lights. For the moment, it was quiescent. Rory had to wonder how much of the time it was, what that felt like, hearing the rumble and shift of the press beneath their feet as they worked. As they slept.

She stared at it, walking down the steps slowly to press a hand to the side of the machine.

"How many books do you guys do?"

"About three a month."

Rory nodded, lifting her hand from the press as she walked around it in a great circle. She looked over at Jess, trying hard to contain her awe being down here. This was where the magic happened. Stories and ideas and words of all sorts, pressed in ink onto paper, and then unleashed in indelible, unchangeable form onto the world.

Rory bit her lip to hide her smile.

"And the magazine?"

Jess shrugged, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder.

"We outsource it to another printer. Our press isn't the right kind."

"Oh, you use rotogravure for the 'zine?"

Jess nodded.

"Colors come out sharper." Jess blinked, and then seemed to shake himself. "And that's not what I came down here to talk about!"

Rory raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms. She had a fair idea, actually, what he wanted to talk about – whatever it was he cut Chris off from saying upstairs. But she certainly wasn't going to help him out any.

"Well?" she asked, echoing his brattiness from earlier.

Jess stepped close into her personal space, looming imposingly over her. Well, much as he could, anyway.

"You don't," Jess started, voice a low hiss, eyes dark and narrowed, "talk about what we did around those guys. _Especially_ not Matthew."

Rory tilted her head back from him, not in the least intimidated.

"What about Chris?" she asked, smirking in satisfaction as Jess recoiled.

He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily.

"He already knows, doesn't he?" Rory said, barreling on. She was onto something, she knew it! "That's why you work here, isn't it? You're the money guy, not Matthew!"

Ha, she knew it wasn't just a hobby! What kind of dumb explanation was that anyway? However, Rory frowned, irritated all over again. It would have been nice if even _one_ of Jess's stories had been true.

"Could you _not_ say that so loudly?" Jess asked, wincing.

"Why? What will happen? Will Matthew kick you out?"

"No, he just… his feelings are really delicate. He kind of thinks we're a successful business all on our own."

Rory blinked rapidly, deflating.

"Oh." She considered Jess in the bad, off-yellow lighting. "Does _everyone_ here know?"

Jess gave her an amused look.

"How do you think I got started? And that sounded an awful lot like an interview question."

"Well, I am a reporter." She smiled smugly up at him. "And you must be an interviewee, because that sounded an awful lot like an answer."

Jess sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Exactly how long were you planning on staying here?" he asked.

"Until I get my story."

"You already _know_ the story, Rory! You were there!"

"There's more to it. You know there is," she said quietly, staring him down. Jess had always gotten fidgety and sullen when Luke did it; the effect wasn't quite the same when she tried it. Mostly Jess just looked annoyed. "That's why you've been so secretive. How did you do it? Why doesn't anyone even know the bank was robbed? _How many times_have you done it before?"

"You really want to know?" Jess asked. His voice was idle, eyes distant as if a plan was just now occurring to him. Maybe before this moment he had thought he'd be able to beg her off, confuse her, or actually hand her over to the police. She was a serious contender now, and he was actually thinking through how to deal with her.

She nodded, shoulders straightening with pride. She was a reporter, and he damn well ought to respect that.

"Okay," Jess said softly. "But if you're going to stay, you're going to work."

Rory just barely restrained a whoop of victory.

"I'll line edit with the best of them," she said through a toothy grin.

Jess tilted his head at her, sly smile on his lips.

He stepped in close to her, almost enough to touch. His hands dangled down, brushing against hers, before he reached around to his back pocket. Rory's heart thumped in her ears as she stared up at him.

Jess took her hand and pressed his cold, heavy gun into it.

"Who said anything about _editing_?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: **I'll Be Bonnie, You Be Clyde**  
Rating:** PG (with options for higher ratings later on)  
**Pairings/Characters:** Rory, Jess, Rory/Logan (implied), Rory/Jess (eventually)  
**Warnings:** none  
**Word count:** 3202  
**Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls belongs to the Palladinos, WB/CW, and Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions.  
**Summary:** What if Gilmore Girls had 100% more bank robbery in it? S5 finale AU

**A/N:** Thank you to finnigan_geist for encouraging (and beta'ing) my completely stupid ideas.

**A/N2:** Sorry for the shortish chapter. I'll think you'll see why I had to sort of cut it off here. It was either have a ridiculously long chapter and equally long wait, or break it off and be able to post sooner.

* * *

_In which there is a gun; a contract; the Powerpuff girls; sandwiches; and a very different kind of tutoring._

The gun was heavy, its metal warming as it pressed against the tingly, nervous skin of Rory's back, wedged into the back of her jeans' waistband. Jess was downstairs, drawing up a contract he assured her was boilerplate, but Rory was taking everything he said these days with a grain of salt. How often did he hire accomplices, anyway?

Sweat trickled down her neck and followed the line of her back. Rory had to restrain a shuddering gasp as it came in contact with the gun, making it slip ever so slightly in position. She tried to stay very still, sitting on the edge of the guest room bed, hoping that the gun would evaporate or something.

A _gun_. She had a _gun_. It was Jess's new strategy. Give her a gun, watch her flail and run away, laugh, and then never have to see her again. She was fully conscious of what he was trying to do to her, and yet that really wasn't at all stopping her from _freaking the hell out_.

What if it went off? What if she got shot and bled everywhere? Leaving aside her own death, and Lorelai's imprisonment for murdering Jess – although, at the moment, she wasn't entirely sure she could bet on that – this place was _really_ nice. They'd probably paid a lot for the security deposit, and she was going to mess that up for them.

Repressing shivers, Rory stood decisively, if not swiftly, and walked over to the dresser. She slid a cautious hand into her waistband, retrieving the gun. It was odd, she thought, staring down at it. It fit her hand perfectly. Just a little revolver. It was almost dainty. It probably didn't fit in Jess's long fingered hands at all. It probably made him clumsy.

Maybe that was why he didn't use it.

Careful not to make a sound, Rory slid open a drawer and deposited the gun onto someone's hoard of hole-ridden socks. She exhaled loudly as the closed the drawer, relieved to have the physical danger gone, even if the existential danger was not. Whatever happened, she was in this as much as Jess, now.

She _really_ hoped they didn't get caught. Not before she got her byline, anyway.

"Settling in?" asked a voice from the door. Rory whipped around in shock, hand going to her throat. Chris and Jessica stood in the doorway.

"I wasn't – um. What?"

"You're unpacking, right?" Jessica asked. Her voice was calm and slow, her expression mild. No reason to think she was getting a dig in, or treating Rory like she was dumb. As far as Rory could tell. Which wasn't far. She shifted uncomfortably, unsure of exactly why she was unsure. "So, you're planning on staying a while."

"Right. Unpacking. Yes," Rory said, eyes darting over to her unpacked bag where it lay on the bed. Chris followed her gaze, bending around Jessica to try to get a look, but Jessica remained squarely in his way, watching Rory. It was like she knew all the evidence she needed would be on Rory's face. Rory squared her shoulders at the thought, determined to get Jessica on her side.

"Um, actually, it turns out I'll be staying longer than I thought I would. And… I don't have any pajamas. I was just wondering if I could borrow something off of you?" she asked sweetly. Clothes were always a good bonding point.

"I don't live here," Jessica said. "So, no."

"Oh," Rory said. She could feel herself deflate. So much for helping out a sister in need.

Chris got a thoughtful, sly look on his face – not entirely unlike the one from before when the issue of Jess's job had come up. Rory was quickly learning to be wary of that expression.

"I think I know just the thing."

"You mean …?" Jessica asked.

He tossed a wink down at her before sidling away.

"Yep."

Rory was getting sick of the half sentences and near silent communication. That was _her_ thing. Or, it had been. No Lane, no Lorelai, not even a Paris in sight. You're on your own, Gilmore, she thought. No more safety nets.

Chris returned swiftly, smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he presented her with a bundle of slightly musty clothes. She took them cautiously, shaking one article out to make sure it wasn't one of Jess's old band t-shirts. The thought of wearing _his_ clothes gave her a twinge she didn't want to analyze just now. The Powerpuff Girls logo was emblazoned across the front of a small, distinctly female cut baby doll shirt.

"Thanks," she offered hesitantly. She wasn't exactly sure she wanted to know, but she plunged on regardless. "Whose are these?"

"Mel's. Jess's ex. She was about your size," Jessica said. She lifted her chin, as if to indicate Rory's whole body. Somehow, that small gesture made Rory feel exposed, and she fought the urge to cross her arms across her chest. "Seems he's got a type."

"Stop it," Chris said, nudging her. He gave Rory a somewhat conciliatory look. "Mel looked nothing like you."

He didn't go any further than that. No denial of Jess's type. No "you're so much prettier." No "you're so much thinner" – although Rory couldn't protest that much, given the size of the clothes. But she did take the gesture to heart. Chris wasn't completely against her, at least.

"If you don't want to mess with her," Jessica complained idly, "then why did you get Mel's clothes?"

"I just like digging through Jess's stuff."

Jessica considered, and then shrugged.

"Fair point."

Rory blinked, looking at the pair of them with new eyes. It wasn't entirely a joke to them. In some ways, they were like her. They were investigating, trying to find out what Jess was up to. They knew part of the story, but not all of it. And there was a chance that their part was different from her part.

"Do you ever find anything interesting?" she asked.

"Like what?" Jessica asked, her eyes going narrow.

"A big stack of non-sequential bills, for example?" Chris added. "Because, yes. I've found that."

Rory exhaled, slow and steady, holding his gaze. Up until now, she hadn't had confirmation. She'd _known_, she'd _seen_ it, but some part of her hadn't quite been sure that there actually had been a robbery.

"What else?" she pressed.

Chris and Jessica shared a look.

"I'm signing the damn contract!" Rory said, scowling at them both. "I think I have the right to know!"

"You haven't signed it _yet_," Jessica pointed out. Rory glared at her. Really, what the _hell_? What had she done to get on Jessica's bad side?

Aside from calling her a tramp.

"She has a point," Chris said. He dug into his back pocket, pulling out what looked like a thin stack of plastic, clip on IDs. He brandished one between two fingers, close enough for Rory to read.

It was simple and familiar. Incredibly familiar.

Guess all those years watching X-files finally amounted to something, Rory thought, feeling sick.

The ID had Jess's picture off to the right side, a government seal to the left, and clearly emblazoned in large, blue letters in between was _FBI_.

Stunned, Rory reached out and took the ID from Chris. She stared at it, breath coming uneasily.

"What the hell are you doing, Jess?" she breathed. What the hell was _she_ doing?

"There's more," Chris said helpfully. He shuffled through the other cards: IRS, FDIC, Federal Reserve, Secret Service, and even FDA.

"What's _that_ one for?" Rory asked, pointing to the FDA tag.

"Haven't quite figured that one out," Jessica admitted.

"It's all part of the mystery that is 'Jess'," Chris said with a grin and a shake of the head.

Rory shook herself, fighting off shivers. The room seemed suddenly cold, the situation even more serious for the gun lurking in the dresser. She swallowed deeply, looking up into Chris's eyes.

"How do you do this? How do you treat it like it's a _joke_?"

"We don't," Jessica replied. Rory turned, meeting her eyes. The other woman had crossed her arms, and was examining Rory with a piercing, skeptical look. "And you better not either."

"What? _I'm_ not the one sneaking around in Jess's stuff just for _fun_!"

Jessica raised an eyebrow; even Chris looked a little amused.

"Oh, I guess we were mistaken. What _are_ you doing here?"

So, yeah, okay. _Technically_ she was snooping. And maybe sneaking just a little. But it wasn't for fun. It was for her career. She needed this story. She needed to prove herself. She needed to know who she really was.

And maybe she needed to know how Jess fit into all of that.

"I…" she started, only to trail off. She didn't know how to explain it.

"You know, I don't actually care," Jessica said casually. Rory stiffened, giving her a glower. Jessica waved it off. "I just hope you know what you're doing. If you get caught, Jess gets caught. And you do _not_ want to let that happen."

"Well, no. I don't," Rory said. She tried for heated, but it just came out prim. "What's it to _you_?"

"You're not going to accuse me of sleeping with him again, are you? No, hon, he's really not my type." Her eyes raked up and down Rory. "For the record, you're not either."

With that, she turned and walked away. Rory gaped, turning her shocked eyes to Chris, who scratched his neck a little in embarrassment.

"She likes dramatic exits," he explained with an apologetic air. Rory twisted her lips. So very _not_ what she wanted expanded on. He did, however, go on, "She's right, though. We could give a damn what you do with Jess. Screw him, leave him, rip his heart out. I mean, _don't_, because he's enough of a bitch to work with as it is. But whatever you do, that's between you two.

"But _don't_ get caught. We don't fucking want to go to jail either, you know."

"I'll try," Rory replied weakly.

Chris didn't reply, but his eyes said it all: _You'll do better than 'try'_.

It was not long after that exchange that Rory found herself downstairs again, signing a contract with a shaky hand. Jess was perched on the desk, his hip pressed against hers while he braced his hand against the far edge, leaning the whole length of his body across, twisted, to watch her sign. Her breath was loud in her eyes, heart thumping, both from his proximity and the reality of what she was doing. Her hands felt clammy, and the pen slipped slightly in her grasp, her signature coming out wobbly and uneven.

She'd read the contract five times – the first two with a glazed expression, not even comprehending the words on the page, breath coming fast and shallow as she tried to process how _real_ everything had suddenly become. The next two times had been for content, reading with squinted eyes and a furrowed brows as she tried to make sure Jess didn't slip _anything_ weird in there. But there were no clauses requiring her to bow or scrape, nothing funny about how "remuneration" would be handled, and the "services" were quite clearly outlined, if cloaked in language that would be hard to use as evidence in court.

The fifth time she read the contract was for show – although for whom, she wasn't quite sure of. Her concentration was blown, the hawkish stares of the other Truncheon editors - _conspirators_, she corrected – making her quail.

"Nugh," she said, drawing her hand away from the paper. Her eyes fell shut, and despite herself, she swayed into Jess, leaning into his warmth.

"Great," said a distant, distinctly unthrilled voice. It sounded like Jessica. There was the sound of paper being waved. Perhaps to dry the ink. "I'll just… file this."

"Jess," Rory started, hating instantly the breathy quality to her voice. He was too warm. Too close. His arms were almost around her now. "Stop it."

He sighed, sounding a bit exasperated. A tiny bit amused.

"You started it."

He turned her gently in his arms to face him. She opened her eyes, drawing back just enough to look at him. There was a dark, playful expression on his face. His eyebrows lifted, and the corner of his mouth drew up just a little, making his wonky lip even more apparent.

"Now," he said. "It's time to get down to business. "

"What business?"

"You have to learn the trade." His eyes turned speculative as he considered. She wondered just how she was meant to learn. She had the strong sense there wouldn't be a textbook – or a written exam. This field seemed a little more hands on. Jess 'hmm'ed to himself for a moment, and then shook his head. "It's too bad we can't just have a montage."

"Yeah," Rory said. "Real life is tricky that way."

The first thing Rory needed to learn, Jess declared, was good, old fashioned shoplifting. Somehow morning had become midday; Jess decided to tutor her over lunch. Jessica, Chris, and that one other guy whose name Rory forgot, waved the pair goodbye. Well, Jessica didn't so much wave. It was more of a bored flick of her fingers. But it was a semi-positive acknowledgement, so Rory was willing to take it.

On the stoop, Jess was shutting the door behind them just as Matthew jogged up the steps, nearly bowling Rory over.

"Whoops! Hey there," Matthew said with an awkward smile, hands gripping Rory's elbows to steady her. "You guys going out?"

Rory flushed.

"No! Yes, I mean, we're going _out_ - like outside, out. Not like 'going out' going out, in the traditional dating sense…" she stumbled to a halt, covering her face with her hands. Muffled by her palms, she mumbled, "We're going to lunch."

"Oh," Matthew said. "Can you bring back sandwiches?"

"No," Jess said shortly. He grabbed Rory by the arm, pulling it down enough to half uncover her face. She cracked open an eye, just in time to be dragged down the steps. She gave Matthew an embarrassed, apologetic look.

Matthew pressed his lips together in a rueful frown.

"You know, sometimes I'm not sure why we keep you around, Jess!" he said loudly.

"Yes, you do!" Jess shouted back, already half way down the block, Rory stumbling beside him to keep up.

Rory blinked, looking up at him.

"But I thought he didn't. Know, that is." she said.

"Bank robbery isn't _all_ I do," Jess said, sounding put upon. "Someone has to remember to actually pay the bills. Anyway, we're here."

Here turned out to be a hole in the wall sandwich shop two blocks down from Truncheon. Painted on the large windows in crumbling, blue tempera was simply a name. _Bruno's_. The interior looked clean enough, the patrons average, and the smells wafting out were _incredible_. Rory snatched up Jess's hand, pushing open the door and dragging him inside as she suddenly realized just how hungry she was.

A short line and quick exchange of money later, Rory was face deep into her French dip. Jess smirked at her.

"It's no _diner_," he said. "But we make do."

"It's good," she said thickly. "Why aren't we taking any back? That feels … wrong."

In the world of the Gilmores, depriving others of sandwiches was a grave sin. Of course, sandwich hoarding was also a lifelong goal. It was a complex world.

"I told you. We need to train. Do you even know how to palm something?"

Rory shook her head mutely, still too in tune with her sandwich to give the question much thought. She did wonder, vaguely, if this meant she was going to be robbing banks one quarter at a time, but the beef was more delicious than the question, so she favored chewing above conversing.

Jess sighed, and swiped a coin from the pile of change he'd dropped in the center of the table after getting their orders. He waved the quarter across the table, Washington facing her, with the classic showmanship of a magician. He turned both his hands toward her, flashing the palms, and then widened his sleeves. And then, quick as anything, the quarter skittered across his knuckles and disappeared.

"Oooh," Rory said, pretending to be impressed.

Jess flipped the coin at her. It landed on her plate.

"Your turn."

Rory set her sandwich down and picked the coin up. She bit her lip. She didn't _really_ want to make a fool of herself – not with Jess sitting there, arms crossed and eyes as demanding as any professor at Yale. She would, sadly, have to concede his expertise in this arena was, well, _expert_, and she was just a humble learner.

"Er." She flipped the coin back at him, clumsily. He reached up, causally snatched it from the air as it flew, off kilter, away from him. "Slower this time?"

Jess nodded with a seriousness that would have almost seemed misplaced if Rory hadn't kept reminding herself that this wasn't about stupid magic tricks. It was about _crime_. Serious, federal crime.

He went through the motions again – thumb stuck out, quarter balanced on top before it slid up and against his palm. He turned his hand over, showing how he clenched his hand just so, catching the quarter between the heel of his palm and the inner ridge of his knuckles. He slid his thumb back onto the coin, flipping his hand over for the transfer, before bringing the coin up to the side of his hand, tilting it onto a finger, and letting it fall across his knuckles as if they were piano keys.

"Right," Rory said. Her brow was furrowed, eyes studying his hands intensely. "Again?"

He did it again. And again. And again, until she was ready to try. Then it was her turn to repeat, to fail, and to drop and fling the coin in weird directions. After extracting the now sticky quarter from the soda of a neighboring patron, Rory switched places with Jess, practicing with her hand outstretched toward the uninhabited corner of the restaurant.

"Can we take a break?" she eventually asked, massaging her sore palm.

Jess gave her a grudging nod after a moment of consideration.

"Don't think I'm letting you off the hook, though."

Rory nodded swiftly; she hadn't really let herself hope. This whole thing was reminding her just what a workaholic Jess was capable of being. It wasn't much of a surprise that it had translated it to being a tough taskmaster.

Still, though.

"It would have been nice if you'd paid as much attention as _I_ am," she groused.

"But then I wouldn't have been me," Jess returned, smirking. She marveled, for a moment, that she hadn't had to explain exactly what time she was referring to – it was obvious enough, from the diner to the magic tricks which study session she meant. "And you wouldn't be you if you weren't obsessive about studying."

Something in her objected to that statement. She wasn't a naive schoolgirl. Not anymore, she thought.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: **I'll Be Bonnie, You Be Clyde**  
Rating:** PG (with options for higher ratings later on)  
**Pairings/Characters:** Rory, Jess, Rory/Logan (implied), Rory/Jess  
**Warnings:** none  
**Word count:** 7040  
**Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls belongs to the Palladinos, WB/CW, and Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions.  
**Summary:** What if Gilmore Girls had 100% more bank robbery in it? S5 finale AU

**A/N:** Thank you to finnigan_geist for encouraging (and beta'ing) my completely stupid ideas.

* * *

_In which things take an academic turn._

**Practice and Review**

It took no less than a week, but Rory learned. She learned how to palm a coin, a playing card, and a credit card. She moved onto bigger objects and smaller ones. She found cell phones remarkably easy to palm, SIM cards far less so. She slipped things up her sleeves, into pockets, and stuck them under tables to retrieve later. She mastered the art of passing objects off to Jess, and smoothly taking objects he passed her in turn.

Passing through a crowd, she reached out and snagged Jess's wrist momentarily, receiving a quirked eyebrow and a half smile while she slipped his watch off his arm unnoticed. When she held it up later, dangling it in front of his face, she was pleased to register the surprise in his eyes.

She went to sleep that night, in her borrowed PJs that smelled both of Jess and mothballs and another girl altogether, warm with satisfaction.

She woke, however, less pleasantly. Her door banged open, hinges squealing loudly, and Jess's voice sounding out, "Time to get up!"

Rory groaned and pressed her face blearily to her pillow.

"You have got to stop doing this," Rory grumbled as he tugged her upright, pushing her bedding aside. Technically, of course, he hadn't been the one to do it last time. That was the SWAT team, and Rory felt all the more indignant for the internal correction. She mustered a sleepy glare for him.

"Stop. It."

"No," he replied, mischievous delight glittering in his eyes. It was, she noted dimly, still dark out. Pre-dawn. Jess was dressed all in black.

Her mind stuttered and finally kicked into gear, processing what she was seeing.

"I'm ready?" she asked, suddenly eager. "You really think so? Because I don't think that was a montage – more like a vignette."

"Not quite," Jess replied, before disappearing out the door. Rory watched him go, feeling oddly disappointed. She sat, for a moment, legs bared in her too short, hand-me-down trunks, curled up amid rumpled and askew blankets. And then, an impatient huff. Jess's head popped out from around the doorjamb. "Are you coming, or not?"

She perked up instantly and scrambled from her bed to follow him downstairs. She was ready, it turned out, for more training. Skulking this time. Very important skill, skulking, Rory thought as Jess lectured and demonstrated, his black clothing and black hair turning his face ghostly in the darkness. He showed her how to move silently, walking toe-heel, arms out ready to stabilize and/or filch things. But for the whole theft angle, the movement reminded Rory startlingly of the lessons Emily Gilmore had given her before her introduction at the debutante ball. She grinned into the darkness at the irreverent thought. If only her grandmother could see her now. She'd make sure Rory stole only from proper families in attire befitting a young thief of her stature.

Rory ran the gauntlet Jess set up, delicately and soundlessly rearranging Matthew's desk – pinky out, of course. Jess gave her a strange look, and she winked in return.

She passed the skulking test adequately, and Jess decided it was time to learn a new, very criminal skill set. He pulled a thin, black bound bundle from one of his deep back pockets. He unstrung the elastic holding it together and laid it out on Matthew's desk in front of her, before flipping it open.

"Lock picks?" Rory questioned, her heart give a loud thump in her ears. She kinda… failed at things that required dexterity. Moving quietly without falling over, yes. That she could do. But actually picking a lock – in the dark, no less! – she wasn't really sure she was up to it. The most she'd ever done back home was bruise her shoulder trying to force the back door open. There was a very good reason for the key in the turtle.

"It's not as hard as it seems," Jess said, trying to reassure her. From somewhere, he also pulled out a simple key padlock. He considered the lock picks arrayed before him before choosing two and, working quickly, opening the lock.

It was like magic.

Jess clicked the lock back together, and moved closer to Rory. He pushed the picks into her limp hand, holding the lock out before her.

"Um," she said, fumbling for words. "Can you show me again? Maybe slower… and with the lights on?"

The dim silhouette of Jess shook his head, shaggy hair just visible in the low light.

"You don't need to see. Just feel."

"Dirty," Rory said before she could stop herself. She was suddenly glad for the darkness, even if she could _feel_ Jess rolling her eyes and was equally sure he could sense her blush.

He stepped behind her, grasping her hand in his and positioning the lock pick carefully between her fingers.

"Tension wrench," he murmured into her ear. She was pretty sure he meant the tool in her hand.

"Uh huh," she burbled, standing stock still in his arms. "_Tension_."

He ignored her.

"The tension wrench is what you have to use to turn the lock cylinder. Push it in," Jess commanded. Rory had just enough self control not to say it again: _dirty_. She bit her lip instead, letting Jess guide her hand, fitting the tension wrench into the slim opening of the lock.

"Huh," she said aloud.

She really could feel the cylinder and… she wiggled the tension wrench a little.

"There's something else in there!"

"Very good, grasshopper," Jess said. He sounded almost, but not quite, entirely unsarcastic. "Those are the pins. Which brings me to part two: the lock pick."

Jess let go of her briefly to retrieve the case of lock picks. Rather than select one for her, he took the lock and tension wrench from her, and then passed her hand over the collection of oddly shaped picks.

"Each one serves a different purpose. What did the pins feel like? What do you think you need?"

Rory stuck her tongue out, brow furrowing as she concentrated, passing the tips of her fingers over the picks again and again.

"Mostly straight. I could feel most of the pins, I think. But," she closed her eyes, trying to think back to the feeling, trying to visualize it and what most keys to padlocks looked like. "But not the last one. I think it hooks upward!"

"Good," Jess said, and Rory could hear the smile in his voice.

She felt warm at the praise – and warmer still as his arms encircled her again, holding the lock before her to work and presenting her with both the tension wrench and a long, hooked pick. She took both steadily, working the tension wrench into the lock and pressing the cylinder out of the way, before carefully sliding the pick in alongside. It fit in smoothly until it didn't, jarring against that final pin. She could almost see it; Jess was right, it was better not seeing with her eyes because it made ever snag and push within the lock, each little jag that she got stuck on, so much more visible to her.

She twisted her wrist just once and _click_.

Rory bounced on her toes.

"I did it!"

"You did," Jess said approvingly, right into her ear. She turned in his arms – right as they fell away from her. But even that couldn't bring her down. She had picked a lock! Rory Gilmore: _master thief_.

Jess's eyes flicked up to the window behind her, where dawn's first rays were seeping in, lightening the office floor the tiniest shade.

"You should get what sleep you can," Jess recommended. "A couple of hours, at least."

"And then what?" she asked eagerly.

"And then," Jess said, reaching out to pull the elastic band of her too-short shorts and snap it lightly against her skin. "We go shopping."

Rory grinned.

**Exam 1: Multiple Choice**

Shopping, Jess had said. Shoplifting, Rory had assumed. _Test_ she had not. She'd figured, you know, training. Like they'd been doing, with the palming of random objects and the roiling sexual tension. Hands-on shoplifting seemed like a good way to while away the mid-morning lull between coffee two and coffee three.

Rory had not counted on Jess ushering her into a Target store, waving a lazy farewell, and then parking himself at the Starbucks after check-out to read the novel he pulled from his back pocket.

And shoplifting, Rory could not help but note bitterly, was turning out to be _hard_.

Well, working up the nerve to move something from the basket straight into her bag was. Who the hell thought putting in security cameras was a good idea? Didn't she have a constitutionally guaranteed right to privacy?

When this is done, she thought half hysterically, I'm writing to _Congress_.

She tried to regroup her nerves, quietly browsing the clothing section of the store. Plastic hangers clicked together as she pushed shirts to the side by the handful. Ugly, ugly, ugly. She distantly remembered growing up shopping at stores like this – cheaper ones, even – and rewearing her wardrobe within a week. When had that changed, exactly? When did off the rack stop being an option?

It didn't matter, she told herself firmly. It was off the rack or another week of rewearing tailored clothes and hanging out at the laundromat in borrowed pajamas. She shuddered slightly at the thought.

Distasteful as it was, though, it gave her motivation and direction both. Darting a look down each way of the path dividing store sections, she crept quietly from women's clothes into women's nightwear. Sparing a brief, longing look at the magnetic and ink tagged bras, she slipped into the sock and underwear aisle. She scrunched her toes up inside her ballet flats, hands skimming over the plastic bags full of discount socks. Not the right kind, of course, although she had taken a pair of sneakers with her, since she'd failed so spectacularly before at running in heels and she had the strong suspicion that running away would now be a large part of her life. She needed something a little more nylon-y right now. Her toes itched just the slightest bit, leather rubbing against delicate skin.

She wandered down the aisle and around the bend, meeting with a large display of pantyhose covered mannequin legs. She brightened at the sight of the little plastic eggs. Small, palm sized, no tags anywhere.

With a tiny smile, she reached out to take up two different eggs, as if considering the different colors. She furrowed her brow and with deft, practiced moves that she had learned over the past week from Jess, she slipped one into her bag while putting the other back onto the shelf.

Her back was straight, steps confident as she bypassed the checkout counters, striding out of the store and directly to where Jess sat in the Starbucks. She bit her lip in anticipation, bouncing just a little on her toes as he looked up from his book, thumb tucked into it to keep his place.

"Didn't find anything?" he asked casually.

She shrugged one shoulder.

"Not my style."

He tilted his head, examining her. She didn't know how he knew, but he did. She didn't know how she knew _he_ knew, but she did. It wasn't something she could define it in his eyes or the smile on his lips or any one feature, but in only in the Gestalt of them all together, and that inner sense almost thrilled her as much as her successful theft.

"Guess we'll have to try another place," Jess said. Rory blinked, mild horror creeping up her spine as his words hit her. They weren't _done_? He gathered up his book – _A Wild Sheep Chase_ – and tossed his empty Americano toward the trash bin, then slung one arm around her shoulder.

"Jess!" she protested weakly.

"You need more clothes, remember," he said into her hair, guiding her out to the parking lot. The sun was edging toward midday. Still plenty of time for shoplifting. "Unless all you want to wear from now on is nylons…"

Rory flushed down to her roots.

"How did you –?"

Rory felt his arm shift, his hand coming off of her shoulder to point down, directly at her bag. She twisted her head to look and right there, visible on the top of her bag, was the little pantyhose egg.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Jess said. His voice was light, criticism almost overwhelmed entirely by his amusement. "You _might_ want to be a little more discreet."

"Maybe I just _like_ living dangerously."

"Maybe you do," Jess said, flashing her one last smirk before he slipped his arm from her shoulder, and walking to his side of the car.

**Exam 2: Short Answer**

They hit a Penny's, a Sears, a Dillard's, a Nordstrom, and at the end of the day, Rory laid an enticing and delightful array of new clothes across her bed in the Truncheon guest room. Each item had been earned in a way that buying in a way that simply buying just couldn't replicate. Why exactly had she let her grandparents and Logan buy so much for her? That took all of the excitement out. All of the _bite_.

On the whole, it had been a long, nerve wracking, and thoroughly satisfying day. Even their return to the publishing house had ended on a positive note, with Jessica actually asking politely for Rory to pass the moogoo gaipan.

Rory snipped off tags and folded up her new acquisitions, arranging them carefully in the drawers surrounding the gun. That was still an issue she didn't know entirely how to approach. Jess hadn't trained her with it yet, and she wasn't sure he ever would. It seemed to be entirely a signifier to her, gift and burden both, designed to keep her close in a way even her signed contract couldn't guarantee.

Eh, whatever. The time for that would come. Right now, all Rory wanted was a hot shower and a good night's sleep.

She stretched out onto the bed, contemplating skipping the entire hygiene issue entirely when Jess stepped into her room.

"I hope you stole something in black," he said. "We're going out."

She did, in fact, have something in black. Rory was more than a little self-conscious of the fact as they crept across the midnight streets of Philadelphia, several blocks off from where Jess had parked. There was little to no traffic at this hour, but something inside of her still bit at its metaphorical nails in worry. She could almost hear Taylor's outrage. They weren't visible at all! Reflective hypercolors were a necessity, not an option. Wearing black to cross a street at night wasn't just negligent of her own welfare, but of the neighborhood's property values.

And since this neighbor actually had plenty of that, it made her all the more paranoid.

They moved stealthily from yard to yard, Jess catching Rory's attention with a softly exhaled breath and a light touch on the arm. She turned to him, and he pointed up at a small, white electronic device. Motion sensor. Rory gulped.

Jess darted quick looks around the house yard with sharp, narrowed eyes, concentration furrowing his brow. He nodded once to himself, and then took Rory's hand. She held tight, dashing with him in a weaving path between the alarms of the houses. And then, as quickly and silently as he'd set off, he stopped. Rory skidded to a halt next to him, wheeling her arms for balance while Jess pulled her back to his side.

"We're here," he whispered to her.

"Where's here?"

_Where_ was actually pretty plainly visible: in the well kept yard of a three storey colonial, pressed to a wall, beneath both a security camera and a potted plant that must have been set out for sunlight and then forgotten on the ledge above. She thought it might be a peace lily, but she hadn't really gotten a good look.

_Why_ was actually the more pertinent question, but Rory figured they dovetailed.

"The house of one Gerry Clark."

The name sounded vaguely familiar.

"The ornithologist?" Rory asked. Jess looked down at her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"… No."

"Then why –" she cut herself off as Jess edged around a corner, back flat to the wall. She followed suit, and they made their way to the back yard, hopping a short, decorative fence. Jess took a long look at the eaves, noting the lack of cameras, and shook his head in chagrin. With suddenly acquired nonchalance, he left the wall to saunter directly over to the back door. Rory trotted after him nervously, pulling on his sleeve to get his attention. "Why are we here?"

"All in good time." Jess threw a grin back at her. He dug the bundle of lock picks from a black satchel he'd slung over his shoulder earlier and flipped it over to her. She caught it, and then immediately dropped it in surprise. "Time to put your skills to work."

Rory watched him a long moment, trying to steady her rapid pulse and her trembling fingers. It was easier to focus on him than the lock picks she was holding, the stolen clothes she was wearing. There was no moon at this time of night, leaving Jess to be cast only in the paltry light of the yellow, distant street lamps. The effect was one of hollowing out the substance of shapes, leaving broad arcs and sharp angles behind. It gave a dark look to Jess's already dark features.

It made him look dangerous, and Rory had the distinct, eerie feeling that she looked much the same.

Cool.

She shouldered the awesome burden of being a sexy criminal with aplomb and set herself to her task, dropping to her knees in front of the door knob. She was just extracting the picks, tongue poking out of her mouth as she concentrated, when Jess spoke.

"While you're down there," Jess said slyly, coming up behind her. Rory stiffened in shock, and twisted around to glare up at him. He smiled innocently, dangling a pair of rubber gloves he had conjured from thin air in front of her eyes. "You should use some protection."

Where was that damn gun when she needed it?

"Thanks," she replied through gritted teeth. It was a fair point, of course. She didn't really want to ruin her life any more than absolutely necessary – byline, she reminded herself, she was doing all of this for her byline – but Jess didn't have to be such a _smug ass_ about it.

She took the proffered gloves, slipping them on. Rory quickly found that she did not like the feel of powdered rubber stretching and pulling against her skin, nor the imprecise grip the gloves gave her while handling her lock picks. The tension wrench kept slipping, not quite right between her thumb and forefinger. Rory chewed at her lip, brow furrowed in concentration, right up until the point where it slipped again and she dropped it.

"Damn it!" she swore aloud.

"Problem?"

"No," Rory lied. She picked the pick and tension wrench up again, positioned them against the lock, and then shut her eyes, trying to recall the ease that working blind had brought her before. She promptly dropped everything again. "Actually, I… think I need some help. Everything _feels_ wrong."

"Ah. "

Sometimes Rory really wished Jess would invest in a few more words. It was extremely aggravating, knowing that he knew what she was saying, and that he knew she knew he knew, and yet having to explain because she didn't _quite_ know for sure he actually knew.

"Context dependent memory," Rory blathered on, quietly as she could, ever mindful that they were committing _crime_ here. "It doesn't feel right. I need it to feel the same way it did when I was learning so that I can do it."

"Anything I can do to help?" Jess sounded genuinely curious. That didn't quell Rory's urge to curse him.

"Yeah," she murmured. She shut her eyes tightly, measuring her breaths, before she admitted, "I need you… to put your arms around me. Like you did –"

"This morning?" Jess's breath was warm on her cheek, arms already settling around her comfortably as he knelt down next to her.

"Uh huh," she squeaked. He held her very lightly, one arm around her shoulders and the other across her stomach, like he was just on the verge of pulling her into a fuller embrace. It was much the way he held her in high school, present and declarative to any onlookers, while still hesitant enough that Rory was afraid he might pull away at any second.

She gulped, furrowing her brow as she pushed the memories aside. She concentrated on the lock – just the lock, Rory! Not his hands or his breathing or his scent. Especially not the last, which was faintly musty, like he'd been down in the printing room recently, covered by the stronger, crisp smell of cut grass. He smelled like books and parks, two things she couldn't deny she liked.

Rory was just beginning to wonder if he tasted that way too, particularly the one spot behind his ear that made him sigh, when he covered her hands with his own.

"I think you've got it, Rory," he said, chuckling.

She blinked her eyes open, taking in the sight of the door, open in front of her. Her hands still rested on the door knob, pushing it open just a hair a more, before she disengaged the lock picks and pulled her hands back.

"I believe these are yours," she said with a polite sniff, handing the picks back to Jess. She shook him off, and then turned around to give him an impatient look as he diligently replaced the lock picks in the kit she had dropped to the ground. "Well?"

"You go ahead. The code is probably still the default," he said. He looked distracted, carefully counting over the picks and frowning to himself. He looked around the ground, trying to find whatever had fallen out.

Probably – she was really starting to hate that word.

"And what's the default?" she asked.

Jess looked up, giving her a surprised look.

"Whatever your grandparents or boyfriend use, probably. You don't know their security codes?"

Rory bristled. That felt a lot like a swipe at her, probably for the momentary flirtation. Why did he keep doing this? Every time she got even a little close, he would bring up Logan or her family or give her a gun and draft her into criminal service.

She was beginning to think he had issues.

"Of course I do," she snapped back. She let the boyfriend barb go, because she really was too mature to play that game. Squaring her shoulders, she slipped in the small crack between the door and frame, and quickly found the alarm keypad.

Now, what were those codes?

The maid of the week always disabled the system at the Gilmores', except on those not infrequent occasions where she was too incompetent to know it. But Mom usually handled it then, sneakily changing it and then chiding Grandma and Grandpa for their lax standards and not knowing their own code. More than one salad fork had ended up bent as Emily Gilmore fumed at her daughter during those discussions. The time Lorelai decided to give hints in song had been particularly brutal on the silver.

Logan's code was a better bet. Finn and Colin often pranked Logan by changing it, but just as often Logan would have to override and set it back to the default when his friends showed up wasted on his doorstep at 3am and he didn't know his own alarm code.

Rory stuck her hand out, blindly punching at the keys. Her hand probably knew better than her mind, anyway.

There was a beep, followed by no sound whatsoever.

She cautiously opened her eyes. The security panel blinked a sedate, happy green. _Mission accomplished_, she thought smugly.

"It's safe to come in now," she called.

Jess crept into the house, closing the door behind him.

"Not if you make that much noise, it's not," he replied with a frown.

"You're no fun," Rory said, lowering her voice.

She joined him at the door, turning around to survey the interior of the house. It was posh, but bland. They had come in through a door next to what appeared to be a lounge. One wall was lined with a fine wood bookcase, the front of which was dominated more by scotch decanters and soda siphons than it was by books. On every chair, there were piles of newspapers and notebooks – the one notable feature of the house.

"Is he a writer?" Rory asked, walking close enough to pick up one broad sheet. _The New York Post_. Ugh.

"Now you're getting up to speed." Jess touched her on the shoulder, jerking his head to the left when she looked up. "Come on, I think his study is over here."

They made their way back into the house, down tastefully wainscoted hallways. Jess pressed his palm against the first door they came to, easing it open. He was right. It was a study.

He hit the light switch, waving her in.

"What are we looking for?" she hissed, creeping up behind him. She almost ran into him as he abruptly stopped.

He pointed to something on the mantelpiece, and turned, giving her a smirk over his shoulder.

"Didn't you always want a Pulitzer?"

Rory's eyes went wide and round as Jess picked the prize up. Her fingers grasped at air as she watched him idly toss the mounted medallion of the prize from hand to hand, weighing it as it fell hard into his left hand.

"Huh. Heavy," he said.

"Is it?" Rory asked, her voice suddenly gone high. Jess's smirk deepened. Argh! He always knew when she wanted something – particularly if it was him, but that really wasn't the point right now – and he _always_ had a way of taunting her into admitting it.

He held the Pulitzer Prize out to her.

"Wanna touch it?" he asked. "It'll feel good. Trust me."

Rory's let out a strangled, frustrated sound. She clamped her hands down hard against her side. No. She did _not_ want to touch him. Er. It.

"I think I'll pass," she said, forcing her eyes over his shoulder. There had to be something worth stealing here. Books, more books, a picture of Gerry Clark and his wife. She was _way_ out of his league, but she supposed anything was possible if you won a Pulitzer…

Oh goddamnit.

Rory stalked over to the mantelpiece and swiped the closest thing off of it.

"Are we done?" she asked huffily, turning with crossed arms to glare at Jess.

He shrugged and placed the Pulitzer back in its rightful place.

"Sure. Now," he indicated the study window. "It's time we finally got around to escaping through one of those."

**Exam 3: Oral Interview**

"Put your hands up!" Rory snapped, coming out of the alley's shadows to press the gun barrel against the nattily dressed man's shoulder.

Hmm. That kind of made her sound like a cop.

"Your money or your life!" she tried. Ah. Much better.

"Oh jeez," she heard from behind herself. She shot a look over to Jess, where he was striking his hand against his forehead. He melted back against the shadows of the alley, almost disappearing. "I really don't want to be here for this."

Huh? She thought it was going rather well so far.

After returning to Truncheon and falling into bed, Rory had been allowed the luxury of a crime-free day. She slept in, ate a cold breakfast of Lucky Charms marshmallows mixed with Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and then trundled her way downstairs refreshed and relaxed. She seemed to be getting the hang of this – as long as "the hang of it" didn't actually involve waking up in the predawn hours multiple times. The editors were hard at work, and Jess pressed a stack of hand written poetry into her hands for the 'zine.

She wasn't really sure if he meant it as a punishment or not, but she attacked it with the same zeal she'd always attacked Paris's misguided assignments on the newspaper. Even Jessica approved of her work at the end of the day.

Which was, coincidentally, when Jess informed her of their next caper.

"There's a dirty alley I've been dying to show you," he said glibly, knocking into her shoulder as he grabbed his jacket from the hook near the door. She followed – as she was doing sort of way too often lately – and that's how she ended up here.

Mugging a guy.

_Jess really does take me to the nicest places_, she thought.

The man in front of her turned slightly, one shoulder moving away from the gun as he tried to look behind himself at her. She poked him with the gun, demanding again, "Your wallet!"

The man sighed, digging into his back pocket. He held it backwards, and Rory took it quickly from his hand, keeping the gun steady.

"You know," the man started, "this doesn't really seem like you. I mean, it doesn't seem to suit you."

"Why, because I'm a girl?" Rory replied. She wasn't paying much attention. Instead she was trying to open his wallet one handed. She twitched as she flipped it open and tried to find his driver's license, squinting in the bad light. Gary Randall.

"No, you just don't look like you need the money."

"Maybe I do! Drugs are really expensive, you know."

"Sure, right. That's you. Crack addict," Gary said. He sounded like he was rolling his eyes. "Lemme guess, you're a college girl. Probably one of the fancy ones, paid for on your parents' ticket. You're rebelling against your hard, hard life by acting out, dating some hooligan or another and committing petty crime."

"What? I – no!" Rory stumbled over her words. "We're not dating!"

She left the 'anymore' off, but she had the unfortunate feeling it was implied.

"Uh huh."

"And I'm not rebelling. I'm," she trailed off, trying to think of a good explanation. 'Trying to stick it to my ex's father and/or win a major journalistic prize' didn't exactly seem plausible right in this moment. Finally, she struck on something that seemed convincing, "I'm collecting donations! For the DNC!"

"What? But I'm a _libertarian_!" Gary sputtered.

Oh wow, that made this even better.

"Yeah. _Suck on that_!" she crowed. "Where's your 'invisible hand of the market' now? Or your 'rational self-interest'?"

"You are being completely unreasonable! Most modern libertarians completely acknowledge the role of the government in law enforcement. Those are strawman arguments – and you have a _gun_!"

"I also have your money."

She finally worked a fifty free from his wallet. She crumbled it in her hand, working it up her sleeve like Jess had taught, before tossing Gary's wallet to the ground.

"Thank you for your generous contribution," she said sweetly, lowering her gun.

She reached backward into the shadow and, just as she knew he would, Jess took hold of her hand. They ran down the alleys, through nooks and half hidden entrances, leaving Gary's not at all apolitical shouts of rage behind. Several blocks away – or, well, enough to wind Rory anyway – she collapsed against the brick wall of the alley, grinning up at Jess.

He shook his head, coming in close to brush a lock of hair out of her eyes.

"Does this mean I've finally won the Ayn Rand argument?"

"Not even close."

**Exam 4: Essay Question**

Rory really wasn't sure about this one. She looked up at Jess from under the brim of her baseball cap. He was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, impatience growing as she dawdled.

"I'm _really_ not sure about this one," she tried. Again.

"Rory," he said tightly. "This is how I do it. All of the banks I've hit, this is how. You don't do it with magic tricks, and you damn well never pull a gun in there. What you do is talk until you get what you want. So now it's your turn – or this ends, now."

"You know ultimatums suck, right?" she asked rhetorically. "They also never work."

Jess sighed. He threw his head back against the head rest of his seat, twisting to pop his neck. His mouth was pressed into an irritated line. She did have him there – what was he going to do? Turn her over to the cops? The whole _point_ of the contract was that if he went down, she went down, and vice versa.

"What do you want me to say? You wanted in. This is how you get in. So either do it, or don't."

"I just…" Rory worried the fabric of her jacket between her sleeves. "What if it doesn't work? What if he recognizes me? Or if the camera takes a picture and they put it on the _news_?"

Jess gave her a bland look.

"How is that worse than CNN?"

"Because it's cigarettes, Jess!" she burst out suddenly. "My mom will think I'm a _smoker_!"

"Oh no. Wouldn't want that."

"Jess! Maybe I could just... shoplift some more! Or, I think I really nailed that mugging, but I thought of some more libertarian jokes while we were running. Maybe I could go back and use them?"

Jess groaned deep in his throat, covering his mouth with both hands. He turned in his seat, glaring forcefully at her.

"First of all, _no_. You are not going to track down the guy you mugged to make fun of him more. If I wanted a partner who did that, I'd have hired your mother. Secondly, it has to be something they keep behind the counter. So no, it's not shoplifting. It's something else all together, and you are going to have to learn it."

Rory tried not to feel warm and fuzzy at the word "partner." It was only her trepidation at the next task that allowed her to suppress the feeling.

"What about a lotto scratcher?" she asked, trying to grasp for any hope at all.

"Third," he continued, ignoring her completely. "You owe me. You made me drop my cigarette."

Rory gulped. Yeah, she had.

Jess softened just a little, reaching out to touch her hands where she wrung them in her lap.

"And fourth, you can do this. I've seen you talk yourself into far crazier things – this included."

She smiled back at him, buoyed by his confidence. He was right. She was Rory Gilmore, Chilton Vice President, Valedictorian, Yalie, and all around _bad ass_. How many banks had Paris robbed? _None_. How many houses had she robbed? _None_. How many guys had she mugged in back alleys?

Actually, that was a good question. Rory couldn't confidently say that Paris hadn't done that. She just had that air about her. Sure, maybe she hadn't _intended_ to mug anyone, but that didn't mean a frightened pedestrian hadn't at some point thrown his wallet to her and run for his life. Rory would have to ask when she got the chance.

But she was getting off topic.

The point was that she was at least as scary as Paris Gellar, and Paris was one of the scariest people Rory knew!

Rory opened the door on her side of the door, proudly stepping out to confront her fate. Jess joined her, getting out of the car only to lean against it. He shooed her forward toward the minimart down the street, and she gave him an uncertain look, faltering just a little.

"You're not coming with me?"

Jess deliberately ignored her, stuffing a hand into a pocket to pull out his book. He settled in beneath the street lamp, angled just slightly away from her.

"You could have just said 'no'," she grumbled as she walked away.

The minimart was bright and generic in the way of minimarts everywhere. The door chimed electronically as she entered, and a lanky, tired looking boy looked up from the magazine he was reading to note her presence before going back to reading. This late at night, there was a barrier between the clerk and the customer, little more than a hands' breadth of space left for transactions.

Rory eyed the clerk from under the brim of her hat, wondering just how to do this. Should she browse first, or was that suspicious? She kinda wanted snacks, but that wasn't the mission. Would it be any harder to steal Doritos than cigarettes, though?

Eventually, she decided against it. This wasn't shoplifting, Jess had said. The mission was to go up to the counter, ask for something, and then just leave without paying. Buying chips would just complicate things.

Was this really how he pulled it off? She wondered. It seemed entirely baffling to her. _This_ was what Jess did. He walked up to the bank clerks, asked politely, and then walked off with the money. Sure, there were also fake badges involved and a clever process of avoiding cameras, probably a few nuances in exactly _what_ he said, but that was the upshot. He didn't steal. They gave it to him.

And now he wanted her to do the same thing.

So she was going to do it.

Nodding to herself, Rory marched over to the counter.

"Excuse me?" she asked. The clerk looked up, and then blushed. He shoved his magazine hastily to the side. _Oh_. That kind of magazine. "Can I get a pack of smokes?"

The young man's mouth worked, trying out the word as he looked at her in confusion. Rory stared back, unblinkingly. Smokes was totally the word. She was sure of it. They said it all the time on TV.

"What… kind?" he asked slowly.

Oh crap. She hadn't thought of that. What kind did Jess smoke? Did it matter? What did menthol _do_ anyway?

"Marlboro?" she guessed.

The clerk gave her a weird look, but nonetheless turned around, selecting the right brand from the display. He placed it on the counter in front of him, but not yet at the gap where Rory could reach through. She was going to have to convince him.

"So, uh… what were you reading?"

"The articles!"

The clerk turned away from her, shoulders stiff as he punched numbers into the cash register. And suddenly, this was very familiar. A smile spread across her lips. She was an _expert_ at flummoxing boys while checking out at the register. He wasn't a pretty as Jess – or as smart, since she knew that the "reading the articles" joke was for "Playboy", not "Jugs". But there was something she wanted from him, and a very clear way to do it.

While he was distracted, she subtly unbuttoned the first three buttons of her blouse. She pulled the collar just far enough askew to show the strap of her bra, and had to suppress a smile when he turned back, eyes going wide and jaw dropping open.

"How much?" she asked, blithely ignoring his reaction.

"Seven fifty," he said. He was still staring. Which was gross. But it served its purpose, as he blindly pushed the pack of cigarettes over to the window.

She picked them up, giving him a winning smile as she did, before walking deliberately out the door.

And then running. Fast.

She was half way down the street before she realized that no one was chasing, and a fair bit beyond Jess to boot. Chagrined, she turned around and made her way back to him and the car, doing her best to pretend she'd _meant_ to do that.

"Here," she said, waiting just a beat for Jess to look up from his book – a new one, she'd woken this morning the "A Wild Sheep Chase" left on her nightstand – before lobbing the cigarettes to him. They fell to her right, squarely on top of the car hood. Well, at least she threw it in the right direction.

Jess tucked his book back into his pocket and reached across the hood for the cigarettes. He quickly extracted one, lighting it and exhaling an ecstatic, smoking breath before meeting her eyes.

"Good job," he offered. "You get it now?"

"Yes. Cigarettes are _expensive_," she said emphatically. No wonder he was always working so much in high school.

"That, too."

He didn't elaborate further; he didn't have to. Yeah, she got it. This was how he stole, the life he'd chosen to live. It was nothing like she'd dreamed of for him when she was in high school – or for _them_.

She laced her fingers together behind her back, looking up at him as she sauntered forward.

"So what were you planning on doing with that cigarette?" she asked.

Jess raised it again to his lips, inhaling deeply. His eyelids fluttered just a bit with the pleasure of it.

"What do you think?"

Rory reached out and plucked it from his hand. He raised an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes. Ha ha, no. She wasn't going to give it a try – she had enough trouble running as it was, thanks. She tilted Jess's head down, holding the cigarette between two fingers.

She kept it safe while they kissed, letting it burn down to nothing more than a nub.


End file.
